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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 


Chap..*dv... Copyright No. 

Shelf....!!.?:.^ X 
^ .dill 6 Lj 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



Lady Val’s Elopement 


By 

John Bickerdyke 

Author of Banished Beauty,’* etc. 



I MAV li* 

Philadelphia 



J. B. Lippincott Company 

1896 



Copyright, 1896, 

BY 

J. B. Lippincott Company. 


Eliotrotyped and Printed by J. D. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia, U.8.A. 


Contents 


BOOK I 

CHAPTER PACK 

I. — IN MAYFAIR 7 

II. — CUPID IN A PORTICO 1 6 

III. — CUPID MILITANT 2 $ 

IV. — CONCERNING FREEDOM AND SPRING-LOVE 34 

V. — SWEET HOME 43 

VI. — THE RUNAWAYS 5 1 

VII. — GRACE CARUS 59 

VIII. — A CHAPTER WITH A PURPOSE AND A CABLEGRAM ... 66 

IX. — SIR AMBROSE IN SEARCH OF A WIFE 83 

X. — SIR AMBROSE HAS FURTHER ADVENTURES 9 1 

XI. — TURQUOISE FORTUNE • . . . . I 03 

XII. — THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE Ill 

XIII. — ^A RED NOTE 122 


BOOK II 

XIV. — RORTESQUE LOEN 1 33 

XV. — ENTER THE DUKE 1 42 

XVI. — SIR AMBROSE PERSECUTED OF WOMEN 1 52 

XVII. — LESTRUS ARRIVA DREAMS 157 

XVIII. — PUCK INTERVENES 1 69 


3 


4 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTBR 

XIX. — PUCK IS VERY ACTIVE . . . 

XX. — A COMEDY OF ERRORS 

XXI. — RE-ENTER LADY FROGGART . • 

XXII. — AMARANTH OVERHEARS A CONVERSATION . 

XXIII. — THE SHAITANS’ CLUB 

XXIV. — “ SIR HARALD GOODENOUGH” • 

XXV. — THE GREAT DIVORCE • 

XXVI. — FLIGHT 

XXVII. — INA CATCHES A CHAR , . . * 

XXVIII. — “1 THOUGHT YOU MIGHT LIKE TO BE A DUCHESS’* . . 

XXIX.-^“ THE NICEST MAN I EVER MET IN MY LIFE” 

' XXX. — A LETTER FROM THE DEAD 

XXXI. — MAY MEETINGS 


PAGB 

i8o 

190 

198 

210 

221 

234 

243 

257 

266 

274 

279 

285 

297 


Book I 


Marriage is a desperate 
thing. The frogs in ^sop 
were extreme wise ; they had 
a great mind to some water y 
but they would not leap into 
the welly because they could 
not get out again, ’ ’ — Selden 


% 


Lady Val’s Elopement 


I. 

IN MAYFAIR. 

Old Lady Froggart always said the wonder was her niece 
had not run away sooner. The uncharitable world put the 
worst possible construction on the remark, and, following the 
usual course, blamed the woman. 

Lady Val’s disappearance from London society would have 
been, at the most, a nine days* wonder ; but it ran into a six 
months’ scandal, owing to the interest in it being kept alive 
by Sir Ambrose’s efforts to obtain a divorce. The return of 
the ill-used lady to England was almost unnoticed, but it is 
right that the true history of the matter should be made known. 
Even a woman with a past,” may have her ‘‘extenuating 
circumstances. ’ ’ 

The story, in which the affairs of many besides Lady Val 
became curiously interwoven, may well open on one memora- 
ble St. Valentine’s Eve, when a dense, yellow fog rendered 
even the gas-lamps invisible, and betrayed the few unfortunate 
and half-asphyxiated wayfarers into curse-inspiring excursions 
off the pavement, to flounder in a lake of mud and half-melted 
snow, which almost o’erflowed the kerb. A clammy, moist, 
chilly night, the foggy air laden with sulphurous exhala- 
tions from a few odd thousand chimneys. A deadly night 
for the poor wretches exposed to it, huddled under arches, on 
seats in public places, or in the recesses of the great Thames 
bridges. 


7 


8 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT, 


Surely the patron saint of lovers had quarrelled for once 
with the Clerk of the Weather; for who would seek to be 
the first seen of his ladye faire in such an atmosphere. 

Maybe this was the vengeance of the good saint for the ever- 
growing neglect of those scented, paper-lace adorned love 
verses, which, in the good old times, the youth of the two 
sexes interchanged at this season. 

But the two flaring gas-jets without globes, and the roaring 
fire in the basement kitchen of 15a, Albert Street, Mayfair, 
the town house of Sir Ambrose Val, Bart., defied both fog, 
saint, and clerk. 

In bye-gone days. Sir Ambrose, who was connected with 
the old Huguenot family of du Val, had been a solicitor’s 
clerk. Displaying much cunning, and a fair application, par- 
ticularly in acquiring the secrets of the firm, he rose, when 
close on the fifties, from his office stool to the partner’s chair. 
Shortly after marrying stately, brown-eyed Elsie Carus, a series 
of very unexpected deaths occurred in his family, and Mr. 
Val, the lawyer, found himself Sir Ambrose Val, Bart, (the 
‘‘du” had been dropped years before), lord of a manor, and 
patron of a living, with an estate at Revelsbury, in Oxford- 
shire, and a town house in Mayfair. Like many another man 
with occupation gone, he began to drink freely and enjoy life. 
It required no great student of character to read in that bibu- 
lous face, with its thick, sensual lips, big, spreading nose, and 
small, dark, cunning eyes, set too closely together, the lines 
on which that enjoyment would run. 

In Sir Ambrose Val’s kitchen the approaching festival was 
the subject of conversation. Rotund madame, the culinary 
alchemist, whose first youth was long past, opined that “after 
all, them walentines was foolish things.” 

“ Oh, indeed !” cried Mistress Ina, my lady’s lady’s-maid, 
tossing her pretty head; “it might be all the same to some 
people if they hadn’t gone out of fashion.” 

Mr. Williams, butler and female soother, abstained for an 
instant from making up his betting-book. 


IN MA YFAIR, 


9 

I dare say, Ina, when youVe had as many as Mrs. Fritters 
you’ll say the same.” 

There’s wheels !” said James. I hope to the Lord Harry 
it’s them. Run up, sonny, and see.” 

Little Winks, the page, ascended to the ground-floor, and 
soon returned, saying it was only a cab being led along with a 
couple of torches. 

^‘There’s something behind it all,” said Cooky, ‘^and no 
one will persuade me that there ain’t. What did he say when 
he came in, Mr. Williams?” 

‘^The first thing he said was, ^Where’s Lady Val?’ and 
when I told him she’d gone out in a hansom cab, he turned 
white as a sheet, and said, ‘ What, in this fog ?’ I told him 
there wasn’t much fog when she started. Then he borders 
the carriage instanter, asked me if I noticed the number of 
the cab, which I did, as ’aving borders to do ; and he walks 
wildly up and down the hall as red as a turkey-cock until the 
carriage comes round. When I asks him about dinner, he 
says, ^ Damn dinner !’ ” 

‘^Oh, Lor’ ! To think of that,” said Cooky, holding up 
her hands and looking round imploringly. Did he now?” 

It almost looks,” said Ina, ‘‘as if master was a bit jealous 
of the mistress. But she has more reason to be jealous of 
him, with all his goings on. I haven’t no patience with the 
man, ’ ’ and again the pretty head was tossed. 

While these good people are discussing the loves and hates 
of their employers, and wondering what has become of them, 
there is just a moment’s breathing space, which I will take 
advantage of to venture an aside, apologetical and explanatory. 

I have promised myself the unusual luxury of a story full of 
romance, love, adventure, excitement, and human sympathy, 
and what will my dear lady readers, without whose approval 
no novelist can for a moment exist, think of my leading them 
straightway from the foggy, slushy streets into the society of 
vulgar cooks and book-making butlers. 


lO 


LADY VADS ELOPEMENT. 


A word in your ear. I have a duke up my sleeve — a slightly 
radical duke, moreover, but guaranteed harmless. The wicked 
baronet of the story has been already introduced, and will 
walk on to the stage almost immediately. And having been 
told you like them so fashioned, one of the minor actors in 
this little drama shall, if I can possibly arrange it, rejoice 
in the exact features of a Greek god. If you don’t fall in 
love with him, you are — well, you must be a New Woman, or 
an old woman, or something very unnatural indeed. By the 
way, should you complain that my Greek god is deficient in 
brain power — well, perfection in this imperfect world is rare, 
and where such pains are taken with the face, surely we may 
forgive the artificer if he neglects the portions hidden by that 
low forehead in crisp brown curls embowered. 

In the kitchen of No. 15a there was no Greek god. Mr. 
Williams, the butler, though of commanding presence, as be- 
fitted a man in his position, was in fact rather short and thick, 
as to his anything but classic nose, while James, the footman, 
and little Winks, the page, were decidedly ordinary types of 
their tribe. 

Ina Springbrook, however, was pretty. Indeed, it is re- 
corded that after the girl had done some slight service for old 
Lady Froggart, the ancient dame graciously took notice of 
her, and afterwards remarked to her niece ; 

Your maid’s really offensively pretty, my dear. I wonder 
where she got her good looks from.” 

‘‘Yes, she’s quite too sweet for a domestic,” said Lady 
Val. 

Lady Froggart sniffed. 

“You should get rid of her.” 

“ But why?” queried the mistress of the offensively good- 
looking girl. 

“ You see, my dear,” said the worldly-wise old lady, “ it is 
very irritating to your guests to feel themselves all thrown in 
the shade by your maid. I declare that when she came into 


IN MAYFAIR. 


II 


the room the other afternoon every woman there looked plain 
in comparison. It won't do, my dear, it won't do." 

But Lady Val was not convinced. 

Lest others are indignant at extreme beauty in one so 
lowly, let it be explained in palliation of the offence that Ina 
came of old if not good family. On her father's side there 
were generations of honest yeomen. Her mother, Christina, 
after whom she was named, was the daughter of an eminent 
but poor Scotch divine, who dwelt in a part of Scotland 
where the features of the inhabitants, their names and those 
of their clachans, mountains, and lochs, all evidenced that the 
people bore in them the blood of those hardy Norsemen who 
once made frequent raids and occasional settlements on our 
shores. 

The divine went the way of all flesh, the daughter the way 
of many poor gentlewomen. As a governess she met young 
Springbrook. Bad seasons turned the yeoman into a tenant, 
and his only child into lady’s-maid to his landlord’s wife. At 
ten minutes before midnight on St. Valentine's Eve, in the 
year of grace 1895, the lass was just nineteen years, three 
months, and two days old, as the register in the old-world 
Thames-side village of Revelsbury-cum-Doningcote will tes- 
tify. And in those same registers will be seen the marriage 
lines of Joseph Springbrook and Christina Culross, and the 
death of the said Christina in the thirtieth year of her age. 

The village folk said Ina was a flirt. But what will not 
village folk say? Certainly her name was mentioned at 
various times in connection with those of three youths. One 
young fellow, Fred Anton, pupil of the vicar, was half crazy 
for love of her. His papa, of the firm of Anton, Gilding & 
Co., the well-known bankers of Lombard Street, who had 
certain prejudices, sternly forbade the match. Both the 
young people were ready to die of the consuming passion ; 
but in truth neither was very badly burnt. 

Mrs. Anton once showed me a letter Fred wrote, imploring 
her mediation with his father. It contains such a charming 


12 


ZADV VAVS ELOPEMENT, 


picture of Ina as she was in those days, that I have asked the 
dear old lady’s permission to set it out here. 

As to poor Fred, he lies under African sands with a Boer 
bullet in his body. 

Here, then, is a lover’s view of Ina : 

‘‘You couldn’t help loving her, mother. She has such a 
dainty little face — sweet, kindly, and violet eyes, sometimes 
pathetic, more often mirthful, but always innocent, gazing 
out through a halo of dark lashes ; delicately brown eyebrows 
marking a smooth brow crowned by golden-brown curls, 
which half encircle her face, and in them nestle two tiny 
ears; a short upper lip, frequently shortened by the dear 
smile, disclosing tiny, white, regular teeth ; a dainty mouth, 
a dainty chin, with a suspicion of a dimple — a dainty little 
lady ! hardly touching the ground as she walks, so light is her 
footstep — a queen, an angel, a goddess ! If only you would ’ ’ 

St. Valentine’s Day, less four and a half minutes. 

Ina eyed the clock anxiously. 

“Now, I daresay,” said the butler, paternally, “you’re 
wondering who’ll be your valentine?” 

“N-no,” said the girl, still watching the slowly-moving 
hands; “but it is near the time, isn’t it?” 

James, who had cast sheep’s eyes in this direction, began 
to fidget in his chair, and finally ventured : 

“ Let’s go upstairs, Ina, and see if we can see them coming, 
from the dining-room winders.” 

“Oh, oh!” chuckled little Winks; “she ain’t for you, I 
can tell you. I know a thing or two, I do. I’ve seen 
things, I have. Was you ever in Grosvenor Square, my 
dear?” 

“Be quiet, imperance, and don’t cheek your betters. 
Lor’ ! how the girl’s blushing !” This from Cooky. 

There is a certain hideous, abominable, terrifying custom 
among the gamins of London. A rush by a house, the rattle 
of a stick drawn across the area railings, and the street boy’s 


IN MA YFAIR. 


13 


soul-stirring, anger-exciting, shrill war-whoop. The combi- 
nation forms a racket which would stop a charging bull. At 
dead of night, when the house is still, the effect is great. The 
young demons know it. 

The well-known rail-rattle, less the cry, turned the subject, 
and Ina’s rosy cheeks were forgotten. 

‘^Drat them, boys!’* ejaculated Mrs. Fritters. Fancy 
’em being out in the fog at this time of night.” 

‘^Oh, dear me!” cried Ina, suddenly animated. ^‘How 
very stupid of me ! I wrote such a long letter to my father 
before supper, and quite forgot to post it, and the letters do 
go so awkward. I’ll run out now, or he won’t get it for two 
days.” 

‘^Let me come and pur tec t ” 

Before little Winks could finish his sentence the girl had 
snatched up a long woollen wrapper which hung behind the 
fire-screen in suspicious readiness, and fled up the area steps. 

If that ain’t a lily-white whopper. I’ll be jiggered,” cried 
the irrepressible Winks. 

The kitchen clock chimed midnight. St. Valentine was 
abroad. 

Waiting in the fog, a few yards beyond the house, was a 
man, muffled up as the weather demanded. 

The girl flung her arms impetuously about his neck. 

^^I knew you’d be my valentine, dear,” she said, after an 
interval devoted to lip pressure, which is at best a cold- 
blooded way of expressing all the intense joy and love which 
those two felt as they clung together, and for the moment (or 
moments) forgot the whole world in that warm embrace. 

‘‘There are some mysteries in this life of ours too deep, 
almost too sacred, for the poor human mind to grapple. The 
passionate kiss of fond young lovers is among them. First 
love comes but once. There is nothing gross, nothing sen- 
sual in it. Those who have not known it — and they are few 
— have not lived, have not tasted the romance of life.” 


2 


14 


LADY VADS ELOPEMENT. 


So wrote a dear girl in her diary many years ago. We old 
fogies may chuckle over the rhapsodies of young lovers, but 
shall we ever forget the day when our admired Julia, or Anna, 
or Belinda, confessed her love, and made us free of those peach- 
like cheeks and ruby lips ? Perhaps she had talked the whole 
matter over with her mamma, and was even then wondering 
in her little head if her George, or John, or Gilbert, as the 
case might be, could afford two horses or three, and comparing 
her new lover with the dismissed Henry, Fred, or Douglas. 
Perhaps 

But this is rank treason ! The love might be on her side, 
and he a fortune-hunter, or that mamma-upsetting, daughter- 
disappointing, detestable being, the male flirt. 

So you have come all the way from Blackfriars, through 
this horrid fog, on the chance of seeing me,^^ said Ina, nest- 
ling closely up to her lover. 

“ I was afraid you might be in bed.’* 

‘‘My lady’s out, and so is Sir Ambrose. We think there 
must be something wrong. He came home unexpectedly, 
and was angry to find her out, and went off after her. He’s 
dreadfully jealous, and yet don’t love her a bit. Isn’t it 
strange?” 

“ Don’t trouble your little head about it.” 

“No, I shouldn’t, dear, but ” 

“But what?” 

“ Sir Ambrose ” and she faltered. 

“What about him, darling?” 

‘‘He — he — makes love tome, Gerald,” and she hid her 
face on his shoulder. 

“Oh!” 

It was as if he had received a blow. 

“ — When he’s not quite sober,” she added. 

“ You must leave this place, Ina. Is it really necessary for 
you to be in service at all ?’ ’ 

“If Sir Ambrose reduces father’s rent, I might perhaps go 


IN MA YFAIR. 


IS 

home for a time. I — here are some lights coming up the 
street. Yes, it’s the carriage. Come into this doorway, and 
they won’t notice us.” 

Somewhat reluctantly, as one objecting to concealment, the 
young man let the girl draw him into the portico of the 
house, then untenanted, adjoining Sir Ambrose’s. It was a 
roomy old-fashioned structure, and afforded a good hiding- 
place, the hall lamp not being lit. 

The carriage drew up at 15a. Before it had stopped. Sir 
Ambrose Val, who was alone, flung open the door, ran hur- 
riedly up the steps, and beat loudly with the knocker. Both 
James and the butler were in the hall. Their master’s appear- 
ance alarmed them. His face was swollen and almost purple, 
his eyes wild and staring. There was a goodly storm raging 
under that crumpled white shirt front. As the hall door 
opened wide, and a flood of light streamed out, the watchers 
in the portico noted these things. 

^^He must have been drinking,” whispered Ina, clinging 
to her lover half-fondly, half-nervously. 

Her ladyship is all right?” queried the butler, falteringly. 

‘‘Curse her! I don’t know; I don’t care. Blast her! 
Look here, Williams, and you too, James. I caught her and 
her lover cooing together side by side in the Caf6 Royal, and 
I followed them to the Palace — a music hall ! Lady Val in a 
music hall ! I thought I had them nicely — in a private box, 
but they gave me the slip. Mind ! She never enters this 
door again. The man, or woman either, who lets her in — I’ll 
discharge him instantly. I’ll beat him black and blue. I’ll — 
the — oh ” gurgle, gurgle. 

He staggered, and would have fallen, but was held up by Wil- 
liam and James, and led into the library, vainly trying to speak. 

“I must go in,” said the girl. “I maybe wanted. But 
stop here; I’ll come back if I possibly can.” 

“I’ll stay here all night if needs be, replied her lover, 
sturdily. 

Oh ! St. Valentine ! What mischief have you been working? 


i6 


LADY FADS ELOPEMENT, 


II. 


CUPID IN A PORTICO. 

Down a turning off Stamford Street, Blackfriars Road, on 
the Surrey side of the Thames, stood, and maybe still stands, a 
small bookseller’s shop. The stock was not extensive. Outside 
were boxes of second-hand books, arranged according to value. 
Literary efforts in the extreme right-hand corner sold, or were 
offered, for the modest sum of twopence halfpenny. . In each 
box, working leftwards, the price increased, until in the ex- 
treme left-hand division one came upon a collection of highly 
priced works to tempt connoisseurs and book lovers, each vol- 
ume costing exactly one shilling and eightpence halfpenny. 

When a proposing purchaser bargained, as many did, old 
white-haired Jonathan Kingley would knock off the half- 
penny, but deprived his customer of paper and string in due 
consideration of the reduction. 

In new literature, the works most sought after, and there- 
fore stocked, were cheap, paper-covered, blood-and-thunder 
stories for the boys, novelettes for the young ladies in domes- 
tic servitude, and of West End shops, theatres, and bars, who 
live on the other side of the water,” and cheap publications 
on social questions. 

Gerald once wondered aloud in Jonathan’s presence why 
socialistic literature was favoured on the Surrey side. 

^‘Education and poverty combined breed socialists,” an- 
swered his uncle. If a man is doomed to be poor, keep him 
ignorant, or it will be the worse for him and you. The un- 
learned plod on. Education brings thought, and thought 
dissatisfaction, a sense of injury, and a desire to rise.” 

And education makes them rise,” urged Gerald. 

Does it ! Advertise for a clerk, and see how many edu- 
cated men are down. But these things right themselves ia 
time. . . . Ah, yes, all comes right in time,” and the bent 


CUPID IN A PORTICO. 


17 

old greybeard wandered away into the dark little den behind 
the shop. 

Odd for a bookseller to have a grudge against education !’^ 
said Gerald, half aloud, settling himself on a crazy stool to read 
‘‘Progress and Poverty.’^ 

Some twenty years earlier, Jonathan and Ina^s father had for 
a few months scratched slates side by side in the grammar 
school at Ryding. Jonathan, who was several years senior to 
his young friend, left school for good soon after Joseph’s arrival 
there ; but the friendship they felt for each other as lads was 
continued in after life. Gerald could remember Ina, a little 
wee thing, begging her father to reach her down cherries from 
the old tree at the back of Springbrook farm by the fish- 
ponds, while she even now had a far-off vision of being pro- 
tected by a stalwart little lad of eight from the attacks of a 
vicious old billy-goat. 

Not a bad-looking young fellow was Ina’s sweetheart. 
Miss Annabel Lytton, of the Royal Surrey Theatre, thought 
so, and spoke of him as “a duck.” Miss Julia Jones, of the 
dingy little pastry-cook’s shop over the way, thought so, and 
called him “a gem.” Miss Agnes — but there, let us judge 
for ourselves, merely saying that the general consensus of 
opinion in the locality was favourable to his person and 
manners. 

True, Miss Annabel did remark in confidence to Miss Julia, 
when buying half a pound of cooked hani in anticipation of a 
tea-party, that his blue eyes were rather deeply set — almost too 
thoughtful-looking, and Miss Julia ventured the criticism that 
his chin was a trifle broad and prominent. Whereupon, Miss 
Annabel pointed out that the broad forehead balanced that, 
adding, she was glad he shaved, he had such a sweet mouth. 
Whereupon, Miss Annabel admired his broad shoulders, 
saying he had even a finer figure than their first leading 
gentleman, who was considered in the theatre very fine 
indeed. 

“It’s a pity he’s not on the stage, ain’t it? Good-bye, 
b 2* 


i8 


ZAnV VAL'S ELOPEMENT, 


dear; I’ll pay next time I’m calling; I left my purse 


In strict confidence, there was nothing in that little purse, 
a whole week’s salary having gone to cover the cost of a new 
hat (8s. ii^d.) and a very big feather boa. Annabel wore 
her boa, which set off her charming little pearl -powdered 
and judiciously rouged face, when she went to buy The 
Lovesick Marquis” (the half-pound of ham was still unpaid 
for) ; but, alas ! her admired one (I cannot say admirer ; she 
called him her mash ”) was reading Ruskin in the British 
Museum. 

There had been three brothers — Jonathan of the book-shop ; 
Richard, who bought a sheep-farm near Melbourne ; and Ger- 
ald, the great baritone singer, who in his day had charmed 
the song-loving people of almost every capital in Europe. 
This last one succumbed, poor fellow, to the Roman fever. 
The wife, a Hungarian lady of high rank, nursed her husband 
through his last illness, contracted the complaint, and died of 
it. The singer left nothing behind him but Gerald, then a 
lad of six, whom the bookselling Jonathan reared as his own 
son. 

^^Not an altogether pleasant commencement of Valentine’s 
Day,” thought Gerald the younger, as he paced np and down 
the wet pavement of Albert Street and became an object of 
suspicion in the keen eyes of No. 501 B. Division. 

The hall door of 15a opened and emitted Winks, evidently 
doctor-bound. The impertinent page, too frightened to notice 
Ina’s valentine, hurried up the street, stopped at a brass-plated 
door, blew and talked through a tube, and returned. Presently 
that rising young doctor, Mr. Egerton Spinesque (he was 
knighted only last year after the accouchement of a royal 
princess), in fur-lined coat, with nose and mouth buried in the 
deep collar, sailed up the street, and was admitted by James. 

A half-hour passed. There was no sign of Ina. 

Gerald wondered if the angry husband had died of his fury. 

The fog was denser and wetter than ever, and the watcher 


CUPID IN A PORTICO. 


19 


sought shelter in the portico of the empty house. Presently 
the door of 15a was thrown open. The doctor was giving his 
final directions. 

Continue the ice-bags until I call again, unless the head 
gets quite cool ; and mind, there must be absolute quiet in the 
room. Eh ? What ? — no, not quite apoplexy ; a near shave, 
though. Good-night. ’ ’ 

Some ten minutes later the girl joined her anxious lover. 
She was almost hysterical. 

What will happen? What will happen? My dear, dear 
mistress ! She’s not to be let in. She’s to be shut out in the 
streets. Oh ! it’s too dreadful !” 

Gerald unbuttoned his coat, drew her to him, and covered 
her as best he could. She was shivering violently. 

When he had soothed and quieted her he said : 

‘‘Very likely there’s some mistake.” 

“ Of course there’s some mistake, and she so good and 
gentle and kind to everyone to be treated like that !” 

“ Did they live unhappily together?” 

“I don’t think there was much love between them; but 
she always gave way to him, and never said a word, not even 
when he swore at her. ’ ’ 

“ What ! before you ?’ ’ 

“Yes, before almost anyone; but he’s hardly ever what 
you may say quite sober now. He said once he’d bought her 
and made a bad bargain. ’ ’ 

“ But how could he buy her ?” 

“ It’s a long story, dear. I wouldn’t tell anyone but you. 
Mr. Williams heard it all when he was in the back drawing- 
room arranging some music. Lady Val’s aunt was in the 
front room telling some old lady who was very deaf, so she 
had to raise her voice, and neither knew that Mr. Williams 
was there, and I suppose he waited to hear it all.” 

“ Don’t stop to tell me, my darling. You’ll get so cold and 
wet out here.” 

No. SOI B., pacing slowly by, turned his bull’s-eye full on 


20 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT. 


the couple, stopped and eyed them for a moment as if about 
to speak, thought better of it, and passed on. 

Oh ! don’t send me into that horrible house yet. I don’t 
want never to go there again if my lady doesn’t come back,” 
said the girl, snuggling up even closer, were that possible, to 
Gerald. 

The story’s a shameful one,” she continued. My lady 
was a Miss Carus, and lived with her mother, who was a 
widow. The family was very poor, and Sir Ambrose lent 
Mrs. Carus a lot of money. It was something to do with her 
house, which belonged to her.” 

Perhaps it was a mortgage,” suggested Gerald. 

^^Yes, that’s the word Mr. Williams used. But I don’t 
understand it. Then Sir Ambrose fell in love with my lady, 
who wouldn’t look at him — who would look at such a wretch? 
— and then Sir Ambrose said he must have the money or take 
their house. I think they let half the house, and had nothing 
else to live on ; and Mrs. Carus told my lady about it, and that 
Sir Ambrose would have the money or her, which they pleased. 
So she gave herself to him, and Lady Froggart said Sir Ambrose 
also promised to give Mrs. Carus a little money every year, and 
he didn’t keep his promise, so that’s how it all came out.” 

‘‘What a horrible affair! Why! the mother simply sold 
her daughter. It’s a happy country, England, isn’t it? I 
don’t wonder at her running away. You must go to-morrow. 
Don’t stop in the house another day with that scoundrel. 
How often has he — has he made love to you ?’ ’ 

He brought out the words with an effort. 

“ Oh, he’s never really made love ; only said things and 
smiled and carried on a little. I didn’t take any notice of it.” 

She said this rather unconcernedly, it seemed to her com- 
panion. 

“ But you ought to have.” 

His arm did not clasp her quite so tightly for a moment. 

“I’d have enough to do if I took notice of all that sort of 
thing. Why, James is always running after me, and the 


CUPID IN A PORTICO, 


21 


baker always says something whenever he gets the chance, 
And there’s a young man at the fishmonger’s who’s sent me 
three beautiful letters like a copybook, and with such long 
words in them, and crosses at the end for kisses.” 

Oh, you are a flirt!” he exclaimed, almost crossly, and 
his arm held her still more loosely. 

‘‘ Now you’re unkind. How can I help it, dear? I’m as 
true to you as I can be. I can’t look as black as thunder at 
them all, can I ?” 

‘‘You ought to keep them at a distance,” he grumbled, 
much offended. 

She took his face between her hands and kissed him three 
times on the lips, promised great reforms, and petted him 
into a good humour again. 

Then they fell a talking about Ina’s farm-house home by 
the Thames. 

“I think if I went home and looked after the poultry, I 
could make almost as much as in service. We could get 
some Minorcas, and have such lots of eggs, and Sir Ambrose’s 
keeper would take as many pheasants as I could rear. Be- 
sides, Bridget’s getting old now, and can hardly manage the 
dairy work. But I should be a long way from you, dear.” 

The arm by this time was tightly round her again. 

“I’d come down every Sunday, darling, and other days 
besides. I hardly know what the country’s like. It would 
be such a treat to get away for a few hours from the sight of 
so much poverty and wretchedness. The people are so 
cruelly poor our way. ’ ’ 

“ Do you think there is none in a country village, dear?” 
the girl asked. 

“ No, not very much. The villages I have seen looked 
prosperous enough.” 

Ina sighed. “ Think of clothing and feeding six or seven 
people on eleven shillings a week,” she said. 

“ You’re joking 1 Why, it’s worse than London.” 

“ No, it’s no joke at all, dear. And when the poor things 


22 


LADY VALS ELOPEMENT. 


get old most of them go into the House, and they hardly ever 
get a holiday. And if they offend their master or landlord, 
out they go, and it’s hard to find work in a strange place.” 

What ! Toil all through their lives, and bring up a 
family, and then go into the workhouse in old age?” 

‘‘Yes, dear.” 

“ But their families — don’t they support them ?” 

“ Sometimes ; but often they marry and have families of 
their own, and there’s nothing to spare for the old people. 
When there was an election there was some talk about pen- 
sions for the old people.” 

“ Talk !” he burst out, indignantly. “ Yes, it’s all talk, and 
always will be talk so long as half a million rich, selfish peo- 
ple rule thirty-four and a half million poor people. They do 
nothing for the poor except what’s forced out of them.” 

He belonged to a radical club, and was on his favourite 
hobby, the selfishness and cynicism of the rich minority. 

“But they are not all selfish, dear,” she gently remon- 
strated. “ Now, there’s my lady. She’s good to the poor, 
and her sister. Miss Grace, spends half her life working for 
them. Ah ! I forgot about Miss Grace; she wanted me to go 
to her if ever I left my lady. ’ ’ 

“I thought she was so very poor herself,” said Gerald, who 
did not favour any fresh scheme of service which might entail 
further copybook letters from fishmongers. 

“ She was until she had a little income left her by an old 
uncle, with whom she was a great favourite. I'hat was just 
before her mother died. My lady also had some money left 
her, I fancy.” 

“ Ah, well, I don’t suppose you’ll want to leave home when 
you get there. Mind, I’ll call for you at eleven to-morrow 
morning.” 

“I think you’d like Miss Grace, dear,” said the girl, still 
harping on the fresh idea. “ Lady Froggart calls her a ‘ New 
Woman.’ I don’t know what that means quite.” 

“Umph! I do,” said Gerald, drily. (His omnivorous 


CUPID IN A PORTICO, 


23 


reading included the modern novel.) She’s fast — smokes, 
talks to men as a man, objects to marriage on principle ; is, in 
fact, a stupid, conceited, egotistic, mannish, unsexed piece of 
goods, about as objectionable a product, of the nineteenth 
century as ” 

‘‘There, stop! do!” cried Ina, laughing and putting her 
hand over his mouth. 

“Then there’s another type” — his libellous tongue was not 
to be stayed — “ who goes in for ideal purity in men, who is a 
sort of cold-blooded ascetic. ’ ’ 

He was mounted on another of his hobbies. The girl again 
stopped him. 

“ Miss Grace isn’t a bit like that either. If she’s different 
to other women it’s simply because she goes in for common 
sense. That’s a great saying of hers. ‘ If I do a mannish 
or unwomanish thing,’ I often hear her tell my lady, ‘it’s 
because the womanish thing is idiotic and ridiculous.’ She 
calls short-cut hair and short dresses common sense, and she 
won’t wear low dresses for dinner. And she goes anywhere 
alone, and smokes a cigarette because she likes it. What do 
you think she said about marriage?” 

‘ ‘ What ?’ ’ This grumpily. 

“Why, that it wasn’t common sense to tie oneself for life 
to a man before one knew whether one would like him or not. 
So she’s never going to get married.” 

“ So that’s common sense, is it?” laughed Gerald. “ Now, 
where would the coming generation come in?” 

“I’ll ask Miss Grace,” said Ina, smiling. 

“Yes, do.” 

Now, would any ordinary persons have dreamt of holding 
this long converse at one o’clock in the morning, with a 
dense, damp, yellow, sulphurous fog surrounding them ? But 
these were not ordinary persons, for they were idealised by 
blind little Cupid, who was there in the portico fluttering in 
and out among the pilasters, driving off the foul fog with his 
swiftly-moving, gossamer wings. Cold, indeed ! How could 


24 


ZADV VAVS ELOPEMENT, 


they be, with fiery little darts driven hard into their bosoms 
from Cupid’s gold-strung bow of beautiful curves? 

While the pair talked, and billed, and cooed, just as the 
Love god inspired them, there came slowly up the street, with 
two linkmen in advance, a hansom cab. As it approached, . 
one torch-bearer left the horse’s head, and walked from door 
to door reading the numbers. He even entered Cupid’s bower. 

‘‘Which is fifteen hay, governor?” he demanded, in the 
hoarse voice of the street prowler. 

“ Next door. Who’s in the cab?” asked Gerald. 

“A lady and a gent. Pull up. Bill — and a blooming 
trouble we’ve had to find the place. Been right away down 
to Vestminster. There’s a Halbert Road there, don’t-cher- 
know? But the gent pays.” This last remark in a kind of 
stage aside, with a leer and a wink on his gin-swollen face, 
which the torch lit up. 

“It’s my lady,” cried Ina, all excitement. “ What shall I 
do? Shall I tell her?” 

“Yes. No. Wait and see what happens. You can do no 
good.” 

The cab had stopped. A man sprang out, and lifted a tall, 
slender, stylishly-dressed woman, with brown eyes and dark- 
brown hair, over the slushy kennel on to the pavement. 

“It’s my lady,” whispered Ina. 

“What a handsome woman!” said Gerald, for the new 
arrival was lit up quite brilliantly by the fire of the torches. 

“ Thanks ! Now, good-night, dear, ’ ’ the baronet’s wife said, 
hastily. “ You’ll let the linkmen light you back to your hotel, 
won’t you? Don’t stop any longer. Good-bye, good-bye.” 

“Drive a few doors down and wait,” was the order Ina 
heard her mistress’s companion give to the cabman ; “ I want 
to see that lady safe indoors before we start back.” 

“ Rum go this, Jim,” whispered one linkman to the other. 

“ There’s a divorce court stink about it. Hope the gent’s 
coiny.” 


CUPID MILITANT, 


25 


III. 

CUPID MILITANT. 

'^*1 DEMAND to come in/^ said Lady Val, imperiously. 

Williams had almost closed the door in her face, shirking 
an explanation, and she had knocked until he re-opened it, 
but only a few inches. 

‘‘Hi^m very sorry, your ladyship, but Sir Ambrose's strict 
borders was that you was not to be let in.’^ 

Only when labouring under considerable excitement did 
Mr. Williams misplace his aitches. 

Not — be — let — in ?” 

She said each word slowly, as if unable to understand the 
significance of them, and stood for an instant like one dazed. 
A brilliant light streamed out through the narrow opening be- 
tween door and post. Gerald noticed that her colour was 
rich, her features finely chiselled, and her eyebrows curved. 

‘‘This is absolute nonsense, Williams,” she presently con- 
tinued. “Your master could not have been in his senses when 
he gave such an order. ^ ^ 

“ Well, my lady, he was a bit wild, and we had the doctor, 
who said it was a near shave of hapoplexy. But he’s better 
now, and has declared over and over again that we wasn’t to 
hadmit your ladyship,” said Williams, who might have yielded 
the passage but had heard a movement in the library. 

Sir Ambrose, who was dozing, having in a great measure 
recovered from his attack, was aroused by the knocking on 
the door. For a few seconds he hardly grasped the position, 
then rose from the couch on which by the doctor’s orders he 
had been placed. He helped himself to some neat brandy, 
and struggled to the door. There he stood, and listened to 
the conversation between the butler and his wife. 

In clumsy fashion the man tried to explain the position to 
her. 


B 


3 


26 


LADY VAUS ELOPEMENT. 


‘‘Very well/* Sir Ambrose heard her say in clear, hard 
tones, “so be it. Tell your master as I was forced to come, 
so I am forced to go, but that I came unwillingly, and leave 
gladly. Tell him he is a contemptible hound, if you have the 
courage ! ’ * 

The man, listening at the library door, heard her walk down 
the steps, so still was the house after she had spoken her final 
word. 

Suddenly someone rushed down the hall, and the skirt of a 
dress brushed against the door at which he stood. There was 
an ejaculation from Williams, and a slight scuffle. A blast of 
cold air told that the hall door had been thrown open. 

“Come back, my lady, come back,” called out a fresh 
young voice. “ Not a hundred Sir Ambrose’s shall keep you 
out!” 

But “my lady” at that moment had her foot on the step of 
the cab. She entered it ; the doors were closed and the glass 
lowered. 

So commenced the third act of a poor, weak woman’s life 
drama. 

The watcher in the library had been stung by his wife’s 
words. He was rendered furious at the revolt of In a, for it 
was Cupid’s little friend who had executed a flank movement 
down the area, attacked the enemy in the rear, and thrown 
down his defences. 

Now his wife was gone. Sir Ambrose came into the hall. 
His face was red, and his features twitched unpleasantly. 

“ So you’d let her in, would you, you little she-devil !” he 
cried. “You’re no better than your filthy mistress. Go 
after her. Go, I say. Get out of this. Keep her company, 
and go to hell together ! ’ ’ 

The girl straightened herself up, and looked him in the face 
as if to defy him. He staggered towards her, seized her by 
the back of the neck, and thrust her through the doorway. 
Maybe he meant to cast her down the steps. 


CUPID MILITANT, 


27 


Who was this leaping out of the darkness ? Whence came 
this blow which felled him senseless ? Ah ! my wicked bar- 
onet, you must learn that it is dangerous to bully another 
man’s divinity. Well struck, Gerald ! The blow is one you 
will never live to regret, though it was dealt in hot haste. 

Cupid stood by clapping his chubby, rosy little hands, and 
assuming a most militant air. 

The frightened servants lifted their master in and laid him 
on the library couch. Again the speaking-tube was appealed 
to. 

Mr. Egerton Spinesque spent the remainder of the night 
with his neighbour and profitable patient. 

Pfui ! as my dear old German landlady used to exclaim 
when displeased with the house-dog. Let us get into a more 
wholesome atmosphere. What shall it be ? The suburbs — 
country air — Norwegian mountain tops? Or stay, there is 
Aunt Tabby. To write or think of that amiable creature is 
soothing. 

But why aunt?” old Jonathan Kingley used to say, a 
trifle irritably, and no answer was forthcoming. It was like 
asking, as regards Father Christmas, ‘‘Why father?” 

Gerald was her nephew, Ina was her niece, Annabel was 
her niece, so was Julia, whose first-floor front she rented. So 
were all the nice young people — and they were numerous — of 
her acquaintance. She was a universal aunt, claiming the 
title less by relationship than by the possession of all the 
sweet gifts that one finds in those angels incarnate, voluntary 
celibates, who devote themselves heart and soul to the spoiling 
of their friends’ olive-branches. 

Ah ! children, you little think that the love these good 
creatures expend upon you was intended by Providence for 
dear babies of their own, and that the patient, kind-faced 
woman who soothes your little sorrows, darns your stockings, 
hems your pocket-handkerchiefs, and gives you ever so many 


28 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT, 


more sweets than are good for you — you little think, I say, 
that she was once a lovely young woman with a bright future, 
and that when the gay cavalier, for her the only man in the 
whole world with whom happiness was possible, rode away, 
she gave up all thought of a future for herself, and devoted 
her life to you. 

When Aunt Tabby dies — and may that time be far distant 
— if her will is observed, a little ivory inlaid, cedar-wood box 
will be buried with her. No one is to pry into that small 
casket ; but we, who are in the secret, know it contains the 
faded photograph of a dissipated-looking young man, a 
shrivelled rose, and a tiny packet of letters written on foreign 
notepaper. How lengthy and brimming over with words of 
fond affection is the one at the bottom of the packet ! Look 
through them and note how they get gradually shorter and 
less affectionate, until finally there is the cruel admission that 
he feels they have been mistaken, and would have been wiser 
had they heeded their relatives^ advice. So with magnificent 
magnanimity he releases her from her promise. Tucked in 
the envelope is a cutting from the Morning Post, 

Peacock— Stebbing.— On the 7th inst., at St. Stephen’s Church, Bunga- 
lore, by the Rev. R. Calb, D.D., Arthur, youngest son of the late Arthur 
James Peacock, Esquire, to Mary Sophia (Daisy), eldest daughter of the 
Honourable and Reverend Horatio Lambkin, of Alresford, Hants. English 
papers please copy. 

The kind-hearted woman was a bonny girl in the days when 
British beauties parted their hair smoothly in the middle and 
hid each dainty little ear in a bunch of ringlets. Rearwards, 
or ‘‘aft,” as the Independent Gentleman, whom we shall 
come to presently, would say, there was a plait. Do you re- 
member how little “rosebud Dora” used to shake her ringlets 
at her “ Doady” ? For years after the thing shown in the 
faded photograph had left England, poor Miss Tabitha wore 
the same arrangement of curls and plait, thinking that should 
her Arthur return he would like to see her as he left her. The 
habit of the curls became a second nature, and at seventy 


CUPID MILITANT, 


29 


Aunt Tabby still wore her jet-black hair in ringlets, which 
shook a little now from the coming infirmities of age. Except 
for this slight tremulousness of the head, she was a wonder- 
fully well-preserved old lady. Roses as bright as Ina’s 
bloomed on her cheeks, but there was lacking the soft, delicate 
skin of youth. 

I have called her ^^poor’^ — pitied her. I am not sure that 
old maids generally, and universal aunts in particular, are so 
much to be pitied. They might have borne ungrateful, or 
deformed, or idiot children. They might have been con- 
demned to a couch for years. Their husbands might have 
turned out rascals, drunkards, spendthrifts, or worse. In 
short, they might have led wretched lives, whereas they have 
lived their days happily and usefully, and are generally loved. 
No, I won’t pity them. Congratulations rather. All of 
which has next to nothing to do with the story, but is more 
pleasant to think about than the stertorous breathing of our 
wicked baronet and the nasty thud with which his thick head 
struck the pavement. But if one sits down to write a story, 
it is no use shirking the unpleasant ; only let us sweeten the 
cup a little with nice old maids. 

Knowing what we now do of the good woman, we must 
not be surprised that when Ina and Gerald sufficiently re- 
covered their balance to consider their position, both spoke at 
once, and as follows : 

Ina — ‘‘I must ) . . 4. t- > n 

s go to Aunt Tabby s. 

Gerald — ‘‘ You must j ° 

Then they thought of the hour — two a.m. on Valentine’s 
Day. 

‘^I suppose we shall have to walk about until morning. I 
wish I had some clothes. But I won’t go into that house 
again,” said Ina. 

‘‘Won’t you, my dear? What do you say to this 
now?” 

Both started at the shrill voice just behind them. 

It was little Winks, with a hat, a cloak, and fur something- 
s' 


30 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT. 


or-other for the neck. The thoughtful James had sent him 
out with them. 

‘‘And I was to say/’ continued Winks, “ that if you’ll give 
me an address I’ll send on your box, or James will ; and if I 
was you, if you don’t get your money, I’d stick a bit of blue 
paper into the old man. I suppose we’ll all get the sack in 
the morning. But, I say, you did give it to him warm ! and 
he a magistrate ! Oh, Crikey ! Hadn’t you better hook it ? ” 

Winks was thanked warmly. Ina bade him farewell (the 
young rascal asked for a kiss !), and the two lovers set off 
through the fog in the direction of the Thames. 

It is difficult to imagine anything more atrociously unpleas- 
ant than the streets of London in the small hours of morning, 
when a sudden, vestry-paralysing thaw has followed a heavy, 
uncleared fall of snow, and there is a fog abroad which, as 
Winks might say, “ yer could cut with a knife.” 

The coffee and potato stall men had, in their own vernacu- 
lar, “chucked up the job.” Even the mouldy night cabs 
were laid by for the time being. The night hawks had gone 
to roost, and the thieves of the London streets, to whom a 
period of impenetrable darkness is, generally speaking, a time 
of harvest, had, like the stallmen, “chucked it.” 

Outdoor London was given up for the time to public 
guardians, Gerald and Ina, and printers’ devils. I verily 
believe that if Primrose Hill gave promise of becoming a 
second Vesuvius, and treating London d la 7naniere de Pom- 
peii, we should have our morning paper just the same. 

“The problem is,” said Gerald, cheerfully, “given two 
points, one in Mayfair and the other in Southwark, many 
streets and a river intervening, to move two practically blind- 
folded people from point number one to point number two.” 

Now, Gerald, who had paid Albert Street many a visit on 
the chance of seeing his beloved, could, if alone, have found 
his way home with his eyes shut. To perform a feat of this 
kind it is necessary to bear in mind the name of each street 
into which one may happen to turn. But when one is not one 


CUPID MILITANT. 


31 


at all, but only the half of two, and the other half is a sweet 
creature about whose warmth, dryness of feet, fatigue, and 
general welfare it is necessary to ask questions every thirty 
seconds or thereabouts, and for whose encouragement an 
occasional gentle squeeze of the hand or arm, or maybe a kiss, 
is evidently desirable ; then, to conclude this inexcusably long 
sentence, one, or rather the first half of two, will probably 
forget the name of a street here and there, and, failing to pick 
up the clue, one and one are likely to be lost. 

Lost they were, for the time being, and, strange to say, 
neither seemed to mind it a little bit. 

Finally, after walking for an hour or so hither and thither 
among the quadrangle of streets lying between Piccadilly and 
the Mall, Gerald suddenly awoke to the fact that whatever 
his natural capabilities of comforting, warmth, and encourage- 
ment might be, it was desirable to get his divinity between a 
pair of sheets as soon as possible. 

About this time they met a policeman, who directed them 
into Pall Mall. Thence they wandered on into Trafalgar 
Square, which seemed a vast place in the darkness, where 
they again lost themselves. 

This may seem ridiculous, but if you doubt it, try it, my 
friend, the next really foggy night. Why I I was once lost for 
quite a quarter of an hour in Oxford Circus, knowing not the 
east from the west, the shops which would have been a guide 
being all closed. 

Finally, they found the right way out of the Square, and, 
his protecting arm always round her, walked down Northum- 
berland Avenue, crossed the Thames by Hungerford Foot- 
bridge, the steps to which were only found after much 
groping, and entered Stamford Street about four o’clock in 
the morning. 

We really can’t call Aunt Tabby up yet. Let me come 
and sit in the shop, dear, until it is daylight,” said Ina. 

Dear” was more than charmed at the prospect of his ad- 
mired one resting among his store of books, and he forthwith 


32 


LADY VADS ELOPEMENT. 


began to scheme concerning the lighting of a certain gas- 
stove, the boiling of certain hot water, and the infusion of 
certain ground coffee berries. But when dear” came to the 
door, alas ! the latch-key was wanting. Nor could Gerald’s 
uncle be called up, for he slept at the top of the house, all the 
spare rooms being let to lodgers. And lodgers who work ten 
or twelve hours a day do not like being knocked up at four a.m. 

The fog had lifted a little, and the other side of the street 
could be dimly seen. 

‘‘Why! I declare, there’s a light in Julia’s room,” ex- 
claimed Ina, delightedly. 

I will not say for certain she did not drop a silent tear when, 
at the end of their long tramp, she found there was to be no 
admittance for hours. The poor girl was exhausted, and her 
boots and the skirt of her dress were soaked with muddy 
snow-water. 

But how was the attention of Julia to be called to the posi- 
tion of her friends ? The window was too high to be reached 
by a stone without risk of breaking the glass. To shout was 
a proceeding which wotild have aroused others besides the fair 
vendor of three-cornered pastry balloons, humorously called 
jam puffs. Moreover, both of my fair lovers inwardly felt 
that to return home in a draggled condition only a little 
while before the milk, looked just a leetle — well, just a leetle 
so-so. In fact, as Ina quaintly thought to herself — and none 
of us can control the wanderings of our fancy — even if he had 
been a bishop, the neighbours would have thought it 
odd. 

Suddenly Gerald became inspired. Perhaps the story of 
Blondel had something to do with the inspiration. Aunt 
Tabby, who loved all good things, including music, had a 
favourite song which she often sung, sometimes with a tear in 
her voice, to her nephews and nieces. Gerald thought he 
would whistle it, as, not being a regular Southwark ditty, at 
least not in the present day, it might excite Julia’s curiosity. 
So he commenced to trill, for this young man could whistle 


CUPID MILITANT. 


33 

like a bird, that lovely old air, and as he whistled Ina softly 
sung the words to him : 

“ ‘ Drink to me only with thine eyes, 

And I will pledge with mine ; 

Or leave a kiss within the cup, 

And I’ll not look for wine. 

The thirst that from the soul doth rise 
Doth ask a drink divine ; 

But might I of Love’s nectar sup, 

I would not change for thine.’ ” 

Did the shade of Ben Jonson look down on them, I won- 
der ? However that may be, a figure which was more welcome 
under the circumstances, though a little too broad to be Julia, 
came to the window. Our lovers waved handkerchiefs and 
arms, and did all they could to attract the figure’s attention. 
And presently the front door opened, and there, oh, joy ! was 
kind Aunt Tabby in a cosy-looking plaid dressing-gown, and 
with her ringlets in curl-papers. 

The weary girl, upon whom there came a reaction after alb 
the excitement and fatigue of this eventful night, threw her- 
self on the good woman’s bosom, and sobbed as if her heart 
would break. And Gerald’s distress at her weeping was quite 
painful to witness, for he was not old enough nor experienced 
enough to know that the tears our weak sisters shed when 
overwrought are as balm in Gilead to them ; in fact, as bene- 
ficial as a soothing cigar and a restoratory brandy and soda 
are to the male being similarly circumstanced. 

Aunt Tabby, whatever she thought, had far too much of 
the milk of human kindness in her to ask for explanations, 
but forthwith undressed Ina, and popped her in her own 
dimity-adorned bed. Then she came into her sitting-room, 
lit her fire, heard all Gerald had to say, prescribed and com- 
pounded a certain old-fashioned posset, and told him to get a 
few hours’ rest on her sofa. Where the good creature slept, 
or attempted to sleep, herself it is hard to say; but a little 
shiny, hair-covered arm-chair had place in her bedroom, and 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT, 


34 

thereon, I surmise, she sat and dozed, and slipped about until 
morning. 

Julia, it seemed, was in bed, fast asleep all the time, having 
dropped off while devouring ‘‘The Loves of Count D’ Ar- 
tois,’^ leaving her lamp burning. Fortunately Aunt Tabby 
was wakeful, and had instantly recognised the air which I 
venture to surmise had been sung to her years before by the 
young man of the faded, cedar-box-enshrined photo. 


IV. 

CONCERNING FREEDOM AND SPRING-LOVE. 

Springtime is an old-world English village. 

The time of primroses, violets, cuckoo-flowers, and cow- 
slips, of green buds bursting, of song and nest-building of 
those birds which mated on St. Valentine’s Day. A time of 
sowing, of birthdays for belated lambs, of growth, of new life, 
hope, and love. 

The village of old, thatched, half-timbered cottages with 
latticed windows is embowered in ancient elms, amongst which 
blackbird and throstle, when off their nests, pipe and sweetly 
whistle to their mates the whole day long, making the air 
melodious. The bleating of the folded lambs, and the low, 
mellow notes from sheep-bells, all increase the pleasure of the 
listener. 

It is a grove of harmony. 

Adown the village street, passing the vicarage gates, passing 
the village shop — post-offlce, butcher’s, baker’s, grocer’s — pass- 
ing the homesteads, passing the old churchyard, shadowed by 
yews, and centred by an old church with massive square towers, 
passing the cottage gardens filled with old-time flowers, comes 
Farmer Corneby’s team, and Farmer Corneby’s carter’s son 
singing, as he rides sideways on the largest horse. And this 
is his song : 


CONCERNING FREEDOM AND SFRING-LOVE, 35 


“ Oi kin milk er keow, 

Oi kin drive er pleovv, 

Oi kin reap, an’ Oi kin sow ; 

Oi’s fresh as the dysies as grows in the fields, 
An’ they calls Oi Buttercup Joe.” 


Joe stops his merry song and touches his forelock as tall, 
clean-shaven, thin, and sandy-haired Parson Lias, narrow of 
chest and watery of eye, bearing a basket in each hand, sidles 
out from a honeysuckle-covered cottage porch. 

Adown the street, in knickerbockers and Norfolk jacket 
of honest homespun, comes the Independent Gentleman, 
broad, sturdy, with grizzled beard and bright, kindly grey 
eyes. 

The vicar observed him askance. 

Joe does not touch his cap now, for he knows in that quar- 
ter civility is better appreciated than servility. But he pulls 
up his team with a loud Gee-who-ah.*’ A wide smile lights 
up his face, and he says, boldly : 

‘^Good-morning, Mr. Goodenough.’^ 

“Well, my little man, have the chilblains and the winter 
both gone together?’' says the Independent Gentleman. 

Joe laughs. In fact, all the villagers prepare a guffaw or 
good honest grin when the Independent Gentleman speaks 
to them. Certain quaint stories told after the cricket club 
supper last October have gained him the reputation of a 
wit. Hidden humour is supposed to lurk in his most every- 
day remarks. 

A few pleasant words are interchanged between the lad and 
Mr. Goodenough. Suddenly burly Farmer Corneby’s brown 
gaiters, surmounted by the red-faced man himself, are seen 
coming round the corner by the church. Joe starts his team 
with a “ Gee-ah.” 

“Must be getting on, or I’ll get plain English else,” he 
says, sagely. 

Reputation is a fine thing. Harepad, the popular come- 
dian, raises a laugh with a look, a word. He w^as no less 


36 


LADY VAL'S ELOPEMENT. 


funny twenty years ago, but his humour was unrecognised. 
Lady Wildgrove, so long the reigning beauty, who ran off 
with poor little Mrs. Whitehead’s husband only last month, 
was far lovelier at seventeen than after a course of ten London 
seasons ; but in those early days her claims were only apparent 
to a few devoted admirers. Her photograph is now in every 
window. Unfortunate Hector Repart’s earlier works were 
ignored by the public, though the critics praised them. The 
man made a hit, and then how these books were read and 
praised ! But just as the tide turned he died, and was thought 
better of than ever. 

A village reputation is not difficult of attainment. It may 
be made in an hour. My dear old friend, the Independent 
Gentleman, at this time was rapidly acquiring a reputation 
for something more dangerous than humour or beauty, at least 
in the eyes of the Rev. Thomas Lias, for he had protested 
publicly against an act of tyranny. 

Fancy tyranny in this Spring Paradise ! 

That Hodge was bound to obey in all things, think, look, 
opine, sleep, wake, if needs be, starve, at another’s bidding, 
was the local creed. 

One man, a thatcher, opined otherwise. He said England 
was free. To prove this untrue. Farmer Corneby laid his 
head against that of Farmer Woodnut. 

‘‘ What’s this talk about freedom !” said Corneby. 

‘‘Never heard of such a thing in all my creepings up,” 
answered Woodnut. 

“And he wants to get on the Parish Council,” said Corne- 
by, much aggrieved. 

“He don’t know his place,” said Woodnut. “This sort 
of thing will spread, if it’s not checked.” 

“Well, check it. I’ve told my men their rents will be 
raised if they go on the Council,” said Corneby. “You and 
I can get another thatcher into the village. If we all agree 
to give him our work. Master Freedom will have to go out.” 

And they both laughed loudly. 


CONCERNING FREED OM AND SPRING -L OVE. 37 

The threat leaked through. Perhaps it was meant to leak. 
It was retailed with customary additions. Weston, the 
thatcher, heard of it. All the village heard of it ; and last 
of all it reached the ears of the Independent Gentleman. To 
him it was a mental mustard plaster. 

Up to this time there was no freedom, but peace. 

The Independent Gentleman loved peace, but began to feel 
interested in freedom. He offered to explain the rural revo- 
lution of 1894 to the villagers, an they would listen. Parson 
Lias expressed himself obliged for the offer, but a friend of 
his had kindly promised to do the same. The friend came, 
explained, and successfully mystified his listeners. The un- 
derlying suggestion of the lecture seemed to be — 

My good people, you are ignorant fools. The whole 
matter is too difficult for you to understand. There are two 
hundred Acts of Parliament connected with this new Act. 
You will be well advised to leave the matter in the hands of 
those who understand such things. 

The lecture over, the Independent Gentleman uprose. 

‘‘I disagree,” he said. ^^The Act is to end the misman- 
agement of village affairs ; to put a stop to the loss of chari- 
ties ; to get you better water, recreation grounds, allotments, 
and village halls ; to render your cottages healthier. You are 
shrewd enough to manage such things. They are your own 
affairs, and concern the rich but little ; therefore, be you the 
managers. I would not have spoken, but a conspiracy exists 
to ruin one man — a man with a wife and large young family 
— if he asserts his lawful right to be a candidate for the Parish 
Council. If this is untrue let the farmers here say so.” 

He waited a full half-minute. None spoke, and all regarded 
him anxiously. It was as if a thunderbolt had fallen. 

‘‘Then it is true,” he said. “And this is England — free 
England ! Mind me — if this persecution continues — if poor 
men are robbed of their legal rights” (here he spoke slowly 
and deliberately), “I will spread the story over the whole 
length and breadth of the land.” 

4 


38 


LADY VAL'S ELOPEMENT. 


He sat down. There was a pin-dropping silence for ten 
ticks of the clock. Then such applause burst out as had never 
before shaken the rafters of the old school-house. The farmers 
went out, some shamefacedly — all rather angry. To their 
narrow minds this was as terrible as the French Revolution. 

A week later the Rev. Harold Lias was heard to say, patheti- 
cally, that the feeling had spread to Donningcote. 

Events followed rapidly. The farmers desired a majority on 
the Council. The vicar approved and supported them. Meet- 
ings were held ; the masters overbearing, the vicar persuasive 
(‘‘it would be most unfortunate, and very costly to have a 
poll”), the men indignant but timid, for more threats were 
echoing about the village — loss of work, loss of house, in- 
creased rents. The Independent Gentleman, formerly a 
studious recluse of conservative tendencies, was now fairly 
roused. 

“ He do give it ^em straight, he do,” was the verdict of the 
village. 

They little knew how night after night he lay awake worry- 
ing, fearing his endeavour to prevent them being intimidated 
or defrauded of their rights should bring harm on any of them. 
He wrote Parson Lias, beseeching that he, as the pastor, would 
work for his poorer parishioners, and make a stand against the 
tyrannical behaviour of the farmers — if he could. 

The reply was evasive, and characteristic of the Eton-bred 
parson : 

“ You do not know them as well as I do. Workingmen are 
like fire ; they make good servants but bad masters.” 

“And this man reads the New Testament periodically !” 
exclaimed the Independent Gentleman. 

The anxiety of the labourers to deal fairly was almost 
pathetic. 

“There ought ter be farmers on the Council,” said one 
grey-headed old man ; “ but if so be as ’ms nearly all farmers, 
what’s the use of the thing? That’s what I sez.” 

Which about summed up the position. 


CONCERNING FREEDOM AND SPRING-LOVE. 39 

Who were to be the candidates ? Who would risk the ven- 
geance which might follow ; not at once perhaps, but later 
on? Some railway men — ‘^what works on the line’^ — were 
pitched on as being the least dependent men in the place, and 
with them the gardener of the vicarage tenant, for Lias kept a 
school three miles away. This last was the greatest outrage, 
for the vicar was also a candidate, and the man had been his 
gardener two years earlier. 

The Independent Gentleman was to be made, if possible, 
a guardian or district councillor, in opposition to Sir Ambrose 
Val, whose severity in dealing with the poor, when acting as 
chairman of the Board of Guardians, had made him one of 
the best hated men in the district. 

The polling day came. Excitement ran high. The vil- 
lagers from Revelsbury and Donningcote assembled in the 
Temperance Hall. The school-master took the chair. Vote 
by show of hands, said the Act. ‘‘Vote by standing up/* 
said the chairman. The Independent Gentleman protested, 
for he understood the move. The vicar said, “ Put it to the 
meeting. ’ * And the poor timid sheep voted themselves to 
stand up. So they stood up, and were carefully counted j not 
by the chairman, as ordered the Act, but by two farmers. 
Parson Lias came out at the head of the list, and an elderly, 
long-bearded farmer, one Paul Drew, saturnine of aspect and 
Plymouth Brother by religion, next. The skirmish prelimi- 
nary ended in the farmers* side having a majority of one. 

But the Independent Gentleman had more thunder-bolts in 
store. A man who cared little about living in Revelsbury, 
having work elsewhere, mildly claimed a poll. This meant 
all the timid sheep voting in a private cell with no man present 
to frighten them. And behold ! on the polling day the Ply- 
mouth Brother, who had been second in the running when the 
men were counted upstanding, came out a bad nowhere as to 
the Parish Council, and the all-powerful Sir Ambrose Val, 
Bart., was defeated by the Independent Gentleman on the 
guardians* affair. 


40 


ZADV VAVS ELOPEMENT, 


There was much rejoicing (in a whisper) in the thatched 
cottages, and much loud weeping and wailing, and not a little 
gnashing of teeth in the homesteads for days after. The poor 
labourers gave thanks, but quaked. They admired their own 
bravery in voting against the powers that be, even in the 
secrecy of a polling-booth. Some of the more timid wondered 
whether the end of the world was much nearer. One or two 
argued that the thing was wrong, as it had never been done 
before. 

Some months after the great revolt, the man who claimed 
the poll had orders to quit his cottage, and the vicarage gar- 
dener, now entitled to write P.C. after his name, received 
notice from the vicar’s vicarage tenant. 

This young councillor, Harry Trotover, lost nothing by this 
interest shown in his welfare. In fact, he gained increased 
wages as custodian of a golf ground near a neighbouring vil- 
lage. Better still, he secured independence, and having by 
nature more brains, but by fortune less education, than the 
Rev. Harold Lias, was a constant thorn in that gentleman’s 
side. The Independent Gentleman admired Harry for his 
pluck, good sense, and remarkable versatility. For instance, 
the young fellow could mend clocks and umbrellas, shave, cut 
hair, garden, farm, groom, and make anything, from a pat of 
butter to a wheelbarrow. He was a self-taught musician as to 
the harmonium, and the best cricketer in the village. A fine, 
upstanding young man, with small, fair moustache, square 
face, and blue eyes. 

A grievous blow, surely, to the Rev. Harold Lias to trans- 
act parish business at the same table with his late gardener ! 
Oh, shade of Eton 1 what was the world coming to when such 
things could be? And the worst of it was he had lec- 
tured the man on his presumption in aiming so high, and the 
reverend gentleman had the uncomfortable sensation that, as 
a manager of village affairs, Harry was a decided success. 
Bitterly did the man regret that he had not followed the wise 
example of the clergy in the neighbouring village, and left 


CONCERNING FREEDOM AND SPRING-LOVE, 41 


the management of the parish pump to those who drank its 
sweet waters. 

Elections over, the Independent Gentleman settled down 
to fight the guardians, who were mostly of the Corneby type. 
The Rev. Harold Lias, who at first gave him a moderate 
amount of support, soon ratted to the side which had most 
heads but least hearts. 

But, though usually in a minority of one, the Independent 
Gentleman worked marvels in awaking the officials to a sense 
of their duty. No longer did the destitute poor wait in vain 
for the visits of the relieving officer and doctor. The good 
old-fashioned custom of making them walk eight miles for a 
bottle of medicine was found to be illegal by the Independent 
Gentleman, and had to be given up, though reluctantly. 

‘‘Truly,’' said Mr. Goodenough one evening, to his bright 
little daughter, “ I believe I’m about the best hated person in 
the district.” 

“And the best loved. I’m sure,” replied the child, rubbing 
her cheek against his. 

“If only their heads were less thick and their hearts less 
hard!” cried her father. “Well, well, constant dripping 
wears even a stone ; and Heaven knows I’ve dropped on 
them very constantly.” 

While these pages of Revelsbury history were in the writing, 
various things have come to pass. Imprimis, Mr. Good- 
enough has passed the old church and entered the gates of 
Joseph Springbrook’s homestead. Then the beautiful, ever 
youthful, and fashionably attired Mrs. Lias has driven up in a 
smart carriage and pair, and whirled off her husband to the 
ugly stuccoed house on the hill-top three miles away, where 
thirty or more good little boys of aristocratic parentage, 
in big white turndown collars, were prepared for Eton and 
Harrow and other groves of athletics and learning. Soon fol- 
lowing, farmer Springbrook’s rather shaky old spring-cart, 
with his good grey mare, has rattled and rumbled past the 

4 * 


42 


LADY FADS ELOPEMENT. 


church. Sitting in it, clad in quiet tweed suit and cloth cap, 
came our valiant young friend, Gerald, looking eagerly ahead 
to catch sight of one fair face we wot of, and not in the least 
timid at being on Sir Ambrose Val’s territory. 

A certain dainty little creature objected to public meetings 
between lovers. Old Bridget, therefore, had her instructions, 
to wit, that when Gerald arrived his inamorata would be feed- 
ing poultry in the orchard, which fact was to be duly com- 
municated to him. And when she heard the sound of wheels 
and the easily recognised rumble of the cart, she walked 
demurely out of the back-door with sieve of maize in 
hand. 

A pretty picture the girl made in white skirt and pale-pink 
blouse. Her fair wavy hair ruffled by the breeze, the branches 
of apple-blossom overhead, a dove settled on her shoulder, 
and the quaint-looking hens marching around her, picking up 
the yellow grains of Indian corn. Scattered among the lush- 
green orchard grass were clumps of spring flowers, planted 
.there a century ago perhaps, but growing and spreading 
hither and thither at their own sweet will. Looking between 
the gnarled stems of the old orchard trees, one could see a 
Thames-side meadow ablaze with marsh marigolds, a golden 
glory. 

Her arms were bare to the elbow ; her head uncovered. 
Short skirts displayed dainty ankles. Surely this was not a 
real farmer’s daughter at all, but one of those ideal and very 
pretty young creatures that artists of renown (now times are 
so bad, even R.A.s condescend to thus improve the artistic 
taste of the vulgar) paint for wealthy advertisers of tinned 
milk, egg powders, margarine, and other farm produce ! 

How her heart beats as his firm footfall sounds on the gravel 
path ! The Tweed Suit turns the corner, the dove flies off, 
the hens are scattered and cluck indignantly. The Pink 
Blouse is almost hidden for a good minute by the Tweed Suit, 
except for a pair of round warm arms twined round Tweed 
Suit’s neck. . . . But there, they aie not in sight of the 


SWEET HOME. 


43 


windows (I believe the artful little Ina picked the spot for 
that very reason), so why should we pry upon their sweet 
communion ? 


V. 

SWEET HOME. 

In a reed-fringed hollow, at the foot of chalk hills, are two 
pellucid pools, fed by clear springs. From out these runs a 
stream, winding amid verdant meadows and fruitful orchards. 
After a short course of a few hundred yards, this little tribu- 
tary, birthplace of many a speckled trout, flows into the 
shining Thames. Springbrook it is called, and on its banks 
was the old half-timbered house held by the tenant of Brook 
Farm. From it was doubtless named the remote ancestor of 
Joseph Springbrook, who lived in the days when surnames 
were mainly derived from occupations or localities. In the 
churchyard lie generations of Springbrooks, and for miles 
around one comes upon men and women who claim a more or 
less remote connection with this family. 

With the sweet scion of this ancient race, Gerald wandered 
away through the quiet orchard to the flowery banks of the 
clear flowing stream. The pair seated themselves on a rustic 
bench, which must have been made for lovers, it was so 
secluded and among such beauteous surroundings. Overhead 
and all around were branches laden with pink and white blos- 
som, which the busy pollen-carrying, honey-seeking bees were 
gently inducing with persuasive buzzing to change in due 
course into Ribstone pippins — best flavoured among apples. 

Gerald dear, don’t you think you have kissed me enough 
for the present ?’ ’ 

No, I couldn’t !” 

But I want to talk to you, and you won’t let me.” 

And I want to kiss you, and you won’t let me.” 

I have let you.” 


44 


LA£>V VALS ELOPEMENT, 


you have. Now just one more. There! Now I’ll 
try hard and not kiss you again for five minutes.” 

‘‘ I want to tell you about Sir Ambrose,” said Ina. 

‘‘Bother Sir Ambrose!” gently exclaimed the democratic 
and irreverent Gerald. 

“Yes, he is a bother. But what do you think? He wants 
to get married again !” 

“ But he has a wife?” 

Ina sighed. 

“Yes, poor dear! and I’ll never believe any ill of her. 
There was some mystery about what happened that night. 
She wasn’t the lady to go and do anything bad.” 

“We’ll hope not,” said Gerald, dubiously. “Who does 
Sir Ambrose want to marry ?’ ’ 

“ I heard about it from Winks,” said Ina. “You know 
since his illness Sir Ambrose has been staying at the Manor 
House, and he’s had a lot of visitors. A rich American gen- 
tleman came, and his daughter, a young widow. She’s very 
nice and bright, but she do dress so ! The other day she 
came down the village in a big bonnet covered with flowers 
and ribbons, and a costume made of ” 

“Whatever it was it wasn’t so becoming as what you’ve 
got on.” 

And then there was a little stoppage of the conversation 
pursuant on the compliment. 

Presently Ina continued. 

“I don’t know if Sir Ambrose loves her or her money. Mr. 
Williams says he lost a fortune almost on the Stock Exchange. 
But he’s mad to marry her, and dying to get a divorce.” 

“ How did you hear about it?” asked Gerald. 

“ Oh, Sir Ambrose is employing detectives, because Mr. 
Williams says he couldn’t get a divorce without being able 
to tell the judge more about Lady Val. He drove her out of 
the house; but that doesn’t prove her bad, does it?” said the 
loyal little maiden. 

“ No, not exactly.” 


SWEET HOME, 


45 


Well, one of the detectives who came to see Sir Ambrose 
missed his train and had to stay the night. He had supper 
with the servants, and Mr. Williams gave him some wine and 

spirits, and he talked a great deal 

— More than he ought to have done?’* concluded 
Gerald. 

Yes; but he hadn’t nothing much to let out, for, though 

he traced Lady Val to Germany ” 

What ! alone?” asked Gerald. 

‘‘N-no; but don’t interrupt. No, I won’t let you kiss me, 
because you are so unkind to my lady. ’ ’ 

‘‘You good-natured darling ! So they were traced to 
Germany?” 

“Yes, and there they were lost, and Sir Ambrose is so im- 
patient that he says he’ll go after them himself soon.” 

“But surely he didn’t tell the servants that?” said Gerald. 

“ He let it out one night after dinner. He’s had worse fits 
of temper than ever since that dreadful night. Winks says he 
swears so awful that he’s afraid the inside of his mouth will 
come out some day ! He nearly had another fit when Mr. 
Goodenough beat him over the Guardians’ Election ; but he’s 
a guardian again, for the others elected him chairman ; and 
he’s so hard on the poor, too.” 

“What a shame it is that guardians can elect a man from 
outside who’s been rejected by the voters. That’s Liberal 
legislation for you !” 

“Yes, I daresay it is, dear,” said the girl, not quite com- 
prehending. “ Do you know, he has somehow found out that 
it was my brave young man who knocked him down that 
night?” 

“I don’t mind if he has,” said Gerald, sturdily. 

“ Oh, but we do. Just think what he’ll do if he hears you 
are down here. Why, he’d ” 

“ Tea ! tea ! tea ! young people. Come and be fed. Where 
are you? Ina ! Gerald !” 

It was a clear, hearty, good-natured voice echoing among the 


46 


LADY FADS ELOPEMENT, 


apple-trees, and quickly the voice’s owner came in sight. 
Joseph Springbrook was a spare, tall man, with clearly-cut 
features — somewhat lined now — brown as to eyes and hair — 
a face which Lady Froggart said was very aristocratic for a far- 
mer, probably deeming that slightly aquiline noses and well- 
shaped mouths, and a short upper lip were not naturally of the 
earth, earthy. Sir Ambrose, to whom she made the remark 
one day, while he was escorting her through the orchid house, 
confounded the woman inwardly, for his glass revealed plebe- 
ian features. 

What a delightful tea-party it was ! There was the Inde- 
pendent Gentleman cracking jokes and eating home-made 
muffins, his faithful collie. Laddie, resting a soft brown nose 
on his master’s knee, and watching him out of his wistful 
brown eyes, worshipping and wondering on muffin subjects. 
There was sweet, blushing Ina, sitting very close to her be- 
loved Gerald, and toying with a piece of bread and jam, 
which made her dainty little fingers sticky, and caused her in 
defiance of all decorum to put her pink finger-tips in her pout- 
ing, smiling, rosy mouth. There was Gerald, radiant in the 
light of his beloved, and the worthy farmer, who beamed 
upon his darling daughter and prospective son-in-law. 

The westering sun streamed in through the latticed win- 
dows, causing the faces of Ina and Gerald to glow warmly, 
lighting up the quaint old carved oak mantlepiece, the brass 
dogs, and the engraved face of the grandfather’s clock, which 
slowly tick-tacked, marking the flight of time. A great bunch 
of sweet violets scented the old panelled, oak-floored room. 

‘‘I’ve discovered another abuse,” said the Independent 
Gentleman, cheerfully, as if he rather enjoyed it than otherwise. 

Joseph Springbrook laughed. Ina laughed, being a dutiful 
daughter. Gerald laughed, being a dutiful lover. 

“ It’s about the Iron Building,” continued the Independent 
Gentleman. 

“Yes, it’s time something was done,” said the farmer; 
“but I doubt if you can do anything.” 


SWEET HOME, 


47 


Well, I’ve seen the paper on the faith of which the sub- 
scriptions were collected, and it says very plainly the money 
was asked for to build a place for social enjoyment and village 
meetings. A sort of antidote to the public-house in partic- 
ular, and a village hall in general. The man got the money, 
built the hall, subscribing a bit himself, and three years after 
had the impudence to draw up a deed appointing himself and 
two cousins trustees — none of ’em living in the place — and 
limiting the use of the hall to the promotion of religious truth 
and Gospel Temperance in Revelsbury and the neighbour- 
hood. What do you think of that ?’ ’ and Mr. Goodenough 
took an angry gulp at his tea. 

‘^I’m not surprised at anything in a place where no one 
seems to know anything about the charities, and men are 
threatened with ruin like poor Weston, for merely wishing to 
exercise their lawful rights,” said Gerald. 

Did you ever hear about Paul Drew and Mr. O’Toole?” 
said Ina. ‘‘But of course you haven’t; that’s before you 
came here. Mr. O’Toole, who was the Revelsbury curate, 
wanted to hold a religious concert in Lent, and asked Mr. 
Drew, who had been made the manager of the hall, if he 
might have it. You know Mr. Drew’s a Brother, or a 
Plymouth Brother — something of that kind. He wrote such 
a strange letter (addressing it just plain Mr. O’Toole, no 
reverend). I don’t remember quite what it was, but it was 
something like this: ‘You can’t have the use of the hall 
unless you can guarantee that the souls of all those who sing 
the sacred songs are saved.’ ” 

“Goodness!” exclaimed the Independent Gentleman. 
“What did the man mean? Did O’Toole give the guar- 
antee ?’ ’ 

“I suppose not, for we didn’t have the concert,” said Ina. 
“ I heard Mr. Drew say he’d not go into a theatre for a 
thousand pounds, and he looked upon a concert just the same 
as a theatre. ’ ’ 

“He once told me,” said Joseph Springbrook, “that the 


48 


LADY VAL'S ELOPEMENT, 


concerts increased the spirit of lawlessness which exists in the 
place.” 

Fancy lawlessness on eleven shillings a week !” interjected 
Gerald, laughing. 

Well, this is an extraordinary village. Can’t you picture 
the Irish curate going round with a twinkle in his Milesian 
eye, informing his singers that he is sorry to trouble them, but 
he really must require a written guarantee that their souls are 
saved before the concert can take place ?’ ’ 

What a good thing it would be if all the farmers treated 
their men as you do,” said the Independent Gentleman. 
‘‘ Your plan of giving each man a quarter acre garden and 
cottage so long as he pays rent and behaves decently, has 
worked wonders. I know your men do much better work for 
you than is done for the other farmers. That little garden’s 
worth four pounds a year to them. Is it true you told them 
to vote as they liked ?’ ’ 

‘‘Yes. When I heard of Weston’s case I had a little meet- 
ing of my men in the Red Barn, and said that so long as they 
did their duty when at work I had no wish to exercise my 
control over them, and that I had every confidence in their 
good sense ; that they were to vote as they pleased and do 
what they thought best for the village. Of course it was none 
of my business to interfere with their public duties.” 

“Capital!” exclaimed Gerald. “You acted up to John 
Bright’s splendid motto, ‘Trust the people.’ I suppose 
these farmers about here have treated their labourers so 
badly that they fear a revolution if the men were to do as 
they pleased.” 

“In many cases I fear it is so,” said Springbrook ; “but 
my experience is that the men are respectable, shrewd fellows, 
and are to be trusted.” 

“But we shall never keep the men from going into the 
towns,” said Mr. Goodenough, “unless we make it illegal to 
turn them out of their cottages so long as they pay rent, and 
give them a bit of land on the same terms. Now they are 


SWEET HOME, 


49 


educated up 'to better things, low wages and serfdom com- 
bined will certainly drive the men from farm work. Let us 
hope better times are coming. Their conditions might be 
improved without much expense.’* 

^‘They must come soon to save some of us,” said the 
farmer, gravely. With wheat at twenty-four, there are hard 
times in store. It doesn’t hit us all equally. Some dishonest 
tenants who have but little felt the hard times have asked for 
and obtained enormous reductions of rent on the strength of 
the outcry about agricultural depression. I could get on well 
enough but for the tithes and the rates. The land won’t 
support landlord, tenant, labourer, and the clergy nowadays.” 

The rather doleful strain into which the conversation had 
drifted was broken by the sound of wheels on the road out- 
side. In brown hat, suit of gay check, and orchid in button- 
hole, driving a small mail phaeton, was Sir Ambrose Val, 
Bart. In very truth he was monarch of all he surveyed, except 
the stylish American widow who sat next him, in sleeves 
and hat of wondrous size, and flowers, ribbons, and sundry 
trimmings according to — maybe slightly ahead of — that strange 
abstraction. Fashion. 

An animated, talkative lady was Sir Ambrose’s companion, 
with those little mannerisms which are fascinating in la belle 
Americaine, but not so notably charming in her countrymen. 

‘^A little matter of business,” said Sir Ambrose, looking 
down on her smilingly. John, this letter for Springbrook ; 
no answer. A thoroughly bad tenant ! I am going to get rid 
of him.” 

‘‘Why, what has the unfortunate man done? Do tell. 
His place does look so pretty. What a garden of spring 
flowers ! You really must” — her words were lost as the 
carriage rolled off. Sir Ambrose smiling grimly to himself. 

Ina had taken in the letter. 

“ I expect it’s an order for pheasants’ eggs, but it’s addressed 
to you, dear,” she said to her father. 

Q d 5 


50 


LADY VADS ELOPEMENT, 


Springbrook broke the seal. It was a short note, written 
only on one side of a page. He glanced through it quickly, 
and his face grew grey. 

‘‘Not bad news, I hope?’' said Mr. Goodenough. 

The farmer leaned back in his chair, with the letter held in 
both hands, resting on the table, and at arm’s length. He 
seemed to be reading the page down again and again, as if 
dazed. Mental agony began to show out very plainly on his 
face. 

“Father! father ! what is the matter?” cried Ina, running 
to him ; but he answered not a word. 

At last a great sob broke from him, and letting his head fall 
on his hands he wept like — no, not like a woman — like a strong 
man overwhelmed, perhaps the most pitiable and soul-stirring 
sight in the whole world. 

Ina continued to question him, but Mr. Goodenough stopped 
her. 

“Wait,” he said. “This must be some great trouble. 
He will be calmer in a minute, and then we shall know.” 

Presently the stricken man began to talk to himself like one 
distraught. 

“ Born here, and thought to die here. Father, grandfather, 
and his father all reared here — more than a home — in the 
chimney nook mother sat and read her Bible every night 
to us children. My poor Christina gave me her last kiss in 
that room upstairs. Oh, God 1 what have I done to deserve 
such misfortune? To leave the place I love best in the 
whole world ! Ina, darling. I’m not too old yet to keep a 
roof above us, but to leave this house. Oh, it breaks my 
heart!” 

Let us drop the curtain on this painful scene. On the 
weeping daughter; on the cruelly-used farmer, to be soon 
driven from the home of his race ; on the good friend offering 
assistance, and whispering possibilities of some day recovering 
the old homestead. 

“ Is there not something awry in our beautiful laws when 


THE TUNA WAYS. 


51 

such things can be ? Are there not too many Vais among our 
lawmakers?^' thought Mr. Goodenough. 

Great as was the blow on Joseph Springbrook and his daugh- 
ter, Gerald was still more deeply moved, for it was he who had 
innocently brought this trouble upon them. 

The letter lay open on the table. Thus it ran : 

^^To Joseph Springbrook. 

‘‘As you are harbouring the scoundrel who half-murdered 
me, I give you notice to quit the farm six months from next 
quarter-day. You may expect a claim for about ;^2oo from 
me, under the Agricultural Holdings Act. 

“Ambrose Val.’’ 


VI. 

THE RUNAWAYS. 

A VERDANT valley watered by a trout stream, the gardens 
of Italian villas trending to the edge of its bright sparkling 
waters. An old German town famous in the time of the 
Romans for its health-giving hot springs. A new cosmopoli- 
tan town once notorious for its gambling-tables. “Faites vos 
jeux messieurs ! ’ ’ The cry is heard no more. But the hand- 
some ball-room and gardens on the other side of the stream- 
let, built out of gamblers’ losses, remain, and for those whom 
the goddess Chance fascinates there is still a little baccarat at 
the club, and in some of those Italian villas aforesaid. 

All around are mountains clad with sweet scented pine 
forests, and ruins of ancient strongholds are on many a craggy 
height. That insignificant little trout stream, the Cosbach, 
was once the boundary mark between the territories of the 
Franks and the Aleman ni. 

But the chief interest the very delightful town of Baden- 
Baden has for us at the moment is that it has for some time 
been the abiding- if not hiding-place of that handsome but un- 
fortunate woman. Lady Val. 


52 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT. 


The German watering-place, where in the summer season 
Russian princes, Italian counts, German barons, Strasburg 
burghers, Chevaliers d’industrie, travelling Britons, and other 
birds of passage, are as plentiful as blackberries on an English 
hedgerow, is more or less deserted in winter, and one of the 
last places in Europe where a husband would seek a runaway- 
wife at that time of year. Lady Val’s companion had once 
wintered in the Duchy, with his friend, the wohlgeborn Herr 
von Doll, whose confidential position in the Ducal Court is 
too well known to be referred to, and Baden, therefore, oc- 
curred to him as being an admirable place of retreat for his 
beloved. So thither he brought her. 

Herr von Doll, who had just returned from a secret and 
very delicate mission to the Court of His Serene Highness, 

the Duke of S , met them at the lisenbahn, and conducted 

them to rooms he had engaged in the Amalienberg Hotel, 
overlooking the Oos and Kursaal Gardens. Moreover, the 
stout, good-natured man stopped to supper, and instead of 
boring them with politics or high diplomacy, as they feared, 
listened to a recital of their troubles, and entertained them 
with a somewhat abstruse lecture on kartoffien salat. 

‘‘Got pless you, my poy,” he said on parting, gazing at 
the young man through his blue spectacles. “You haf done 
a very wise thing indeed, to pring your always- welcome-and- 
most-delightful sister away from that much-to-be-despised man. 
Ach ! she is so lofely, she should have married a Gherman, 
who would haf treated her well. Schlaf wohl, mein lieber. 
You will not forget the number of drops of vinegar?’^ 

Is the secret out too soon ? Ought we to have left this 
beautiful young English lady under a cloud for a moment 
longer than is absolutely necessary ? And just think of the 
humour of the situation, the actual, real humour which must 
now do duty for the ideal naughtiness. After all, is it not 
better to raise a smile and cheer the heart, than to run the risk 
of bringing “ the blush of shame to the cheek of modesty” ? 

Imagine this wicked baronet of ours sending detectives 


THE RUNAWAYS, 


S3 


scouring the length and breadth of the land to get evidence 
that his wife has run off with her own brother ! And eagerly 
looking forward to marriage with the smart and wealthy Amer- 
ican widow so soon as he can drag his wife through, and be- 
smirch her in, the divorce court ! 

The American lady may grieve when she learns the truth, 
for her fortune is only extensive enough to purchase a baronet, 
or an unusually poor viscount. But it is a lucky escape for 
her, if she only knew it, and there are others in the market. 
The market price, so the Independent Gentleman informed 
me, fluctuates a little with the state of trade, and there may be 
a slight advance in prices when the bridegroom is youthful 
and good-looking; but, as a general rule, a duke will fetch 
about ten million dollars, while four millions will be offered 
for a marquis, and one million for a viscount or baron. Bar- 
onets and knights are very much less valuable, and the sums 
paid for them vary greatly according to age, acreage, position 
in society, and so forth. These prices, it should be noted, 
are for English goods. Those of foreign manufacture are 
of much less value ; in fact, almost unsalable in American 
markets, except in special cases. As for the system, it is most 
admirable, bringing new blood into old families, and new gold 
into the old country. The physiologist and political econo- 
mist (if of British nationality) alike applaud. 

^ Though the big hotels and maisons meuMees are more or less 
closed during the winter, it often happens that a little coterie 
of charming people — some for choice, others for economy — 
forgather in the town of baths and amuse themselves suffl- 
ciently well. The half a dozen owners — Russian, Austrian, 
and Italian — of pretty miniature palaces, who may be found 
in the place at any season, take the lead in the festivities. 
The townsfolk, their harvest being over, relax and indulge in 
bals masqicesj eisfesten, and sledge drives by moonlight. 
Burghers and edelvolk^ citizen and hochgeborn approach, as 
nearly as the enormous social gulf between them will allow, 

S'" 


54 


ZADV VAL'S ELOPEMENT, 


Life in an average English country town is dull as ditch- 
water, to use an expressive vulgarism, compared with the ex- 
istence which Lady Val and Bob Cams passed at their refuge 
in the Schwarz Wald ; for the German at home is a much 
more lively person than the German abroad, or is it that only 
the stolid travel ? 

Herr von Doll was most obliging. For obvious reasons a 
change of name was desirable. He it was who told the police 
that ‘‘Mrs. Hutchinson’^ was an English lady of title travel- 
ling incog. This was no small service, for the German polizei 
are inquisitive almost as Russians concerning new arrivals. 
He, too, it was who stood sponsor for them among the mag- 
nates of Baden. Through him the charming Princess of 
M ’s salon was open to them, and many a pleasant even- 

ing they passed there after witnessing performances by that 
company of most versatile actors and actresses from the Carls- 
ruhe Hof theatre. By him Bob was proposed as a member 
of the club where a few lessons in the art of losing could 
be obtained at no greater expense than money out of 
pocket. 

In addition to Herr von Doll’s friends, there were several 
hotel acquaintances. For instance. Captain Haulyard (R.N., 
retired), with his pretty daughter. Prudence, and a young 
Italian countess who smoked cigarettes all day, both indoors 
and out, spoke English with a perfect accent, and was accom- 
panied by an elderly silent husband. At the modest table 
d'hote there also appeared with much regularity an English 
M.P., not long married, and a very stout, dark, moustached, 
elderly German widow, rubicund and shiny of visage, whose 
abiding belief in the adoration of the silent Italian count was 
beautiful to witness. 

“I loaf you, I am drawn towards you,” said the stout 
widow to Lady Val, as they were being driven by Bob in a 
sledge to view the pretty waterfall of Geroldsau, then adorned 
with icicles, the snow-clad pine trees around it glittering in 
the sunlight. “ You have a silent sorrow. Ach ! I can see 


THE RUNAWAYS. 


SS 

it ; you, too, have lived and loyed, perhaps in vain/’ Then 
followed a fat, wheezy, yet sentimental, sigh. 

Lady Val smiled. 

I have never loved. Perhaps that is my trouble. This 
is the happiest time of my whole life. ’ ’ 

Herr Je ! You half never loafed! Ach ! I under- 
stand ; it was a mariage de convenance like my own. Shall 
I tell you a great secret ? Sh — We must not let Herr Bob 
hear. The grand passion comes to us but once, and it has 
come to me late, yes, very late, and it is hopeless. Denken 
sie an I' ’ 

‘^Bob dear,” said Lady Val that evening after abendessen^ 
‘^you have made a conquest.” 

Bob blushed. He was a little undecided at this time. On 
the one hand was fair Prudence Haulyard, on the other the 
young Austrian Baroness Czernowitz, eldest daughter of that 
beautiful, white-haired, stately old lady, Madame de Czerno- 
witz, who might have passed for Marie Antoinette, so closely 
did she resemble that ill-fated queen. Indeed, rumour had it 
that she was the first love of the Emperor — who only gave her 
up for reasons of State. 

Bob blushed, as I said, and asked, Who?” 

‘‘It’s neither Prudence nor the little Czernowitz,” said 
Lady Val, divining his thoughts. “ Guess 1” 

Bob in vain tried the names of the more charming among 
his acquaintances. 

“Well, who is it, then?” he asked. 

“Madame Neuweyer,” replied his sister, laughing, and 
Bob went to bed in a huff. 

The Italian count for whom the elderly, sentimental, stout, 
German woman languished, had not spoken a single word to 
her, knowing no German, and she had whispered not a syl- 
lable to him, knowing only German and English. Later on 
Lady Val discovered her little mistake, and told the countess, 
who took it coolly, lit another cigarette, puffed a cloud down 
her transparent pink and white nostrils, and said, indifferently : 


LADY VALS ELOPEMENT, 


56 


Mon mari est assez ennuyeux, Madame Neuweyer peut 
Tavoir si elle le desire.” 

There was a charming absence of jealousy in that menage. 

But though the sentimental Madame Neuweyer looked 
and sighed, and Count Dispirito regarded her with an indul- 
gent smile, nothing came of it, the bar of language always 
intervening. 

Bad cess to the Tower of Babel ! as Pat might say. 

The fickle, curly-headed Bob, who was at a susceptible age, 
for some time divided his attentions between the brown-eyed 
and rather swarthy ba^vnesse and slim, fair, dimpled Prudence. 
To walk in the moonlight with Prue through the deserted 
Kursaal Gardens, while the Herr Kapelmeister’s well-drilled 
string band played melodious waltzes in the great ball-room, 
was like Paradise. But when clad in warm furs, the sledge- 
bells jingling merrily, as a fine pair of horses, lent him by a 
Russian friend, drew them rapidly along the road to Oos, 
Gernsbach, or Eberstein, Bob felt that the warm little baron- 
esse, half sitting, half lying, close by his side, was the one 
woman who, etc., etc. The position is familiar, and need 
not be described in detail. 

If wonderment is expressed at the absence of chaperones, 
well, our friends had grown into quite a little family party, 
and even if it had been otherwise, gay young baronesses and 
gallant captains’ daughters will break a leading string or two 
occasionally. 

^ How Bob eventually decided as to that brace of afiaires-de- 

coeur was singular. One evening at the Princess of M ’s. 

Captain Haulyard sang a rattling sea song, ‘‘ The Last of the 
Boys, ’ ’ The chorus runs thus : 

" An English girl for me, d’ye see, 

An English girl for me ; 

I’ll take a mate aboard my ship, 

But an English girl forme.” 

For days afterwards, the refrain, An English girl for me, 
d’ye see, An English girl for me,” rang in Bob’s ears. He 


THE RUNAWAYS, 


57 


tried how An Austrian girl for me, d’ye see,” would sound, 
and it sounded badly. So gradually the little baronesse was 
dropped, and Prudence for quite a long time held the first 
place in his fickle heart, the rest absolutely nowhere. 

It was not to be expected that a very beautiful woman like 
Lady Val could remain long in Baden-Baden without admirers. 
Captain Haulyard, who was twice her age, was the first smit- 
ten. With splendid affectation of indifference he asked 
Prudence if her friend was married or a widow. But his 
daughter did not know, and having her full share of woman’s 
intuition, did not inquire. 

The captain next tried Herr von Doll over a game of bil- 
liards, on one of those little French pocketless tables, in the 
room at the side of the Kursaal. Herr von Doll sighed a 
German sigh, which is gutteral, and turned up his rather pro- 
tuberant eyes. 

‘‘You must not ask me. It is a sad, sad story. Ach ! I 
have given you an easy carrom, mein freund P' 

Haulyard, who perhaps was after all not very keen on the 
subject, scented a mystery, and, like a wise man, went no 
farther. 

Captain Howitzer, once a gay and dashing officer of the 
Guards, now a somewhat trembly, debt-beridden, but al- 
ways well-groomed, man, ventured to think the fayre ladye 
might be for him. He attacked Bob. Bob, acting under 
standing orders, coolly referred him to his sister, and How- 
itzer, after sitting for the best part of a day nervously pon- 
dering over the matter in his little garret in a bye-street off 
the Lange Strasse, determined to devote himself to a Russian 
lady who had recently come into the town, her entourage 
pointing to a satisfactory banker’s balance. 

That dashing young Austrian statesman. Count K , 

flashed his bright eyes and jewelled hands before Lady Val. 
Indeed, he commenced a vigorous siege, bombarding her with 
bouquets, pink notes, bonbons, and theatre tickets. One 
night, during a bal masque at the Kursaal, he recognised her 


LADY VADS ELOPEMENT, 


58 

in spite of her domino. To tell the whole truth, and nothing 
but the truth, a fem^fie de chambre at the hotel had (for a 
consideration) sewn a tiny white pearl button to the hem of 
the disguising cloak. The count thought to end the siege and 
take the fortress by storm, but he did not even break down 
the outworks, and left Baden the next day. 

“Zees English women are so cold,” he remarked, feel- 
ingly, one day not long after, to his dear friend, young Lord 
de Gay, attache to the embassy. 

“That’s all you know about it, my boy,” replied his little 
lordship, with an attempt at a wink, which made him drop 
his eye-glass. 

Nor was Lady Val cold by any means, but an impulsive, 
warm-hearted woman. Freed from the influence of the 
drunken bully, to whom she had been mated by force of cir- 
cumstances and the Church of England, the balance of her 
curtailed girlhood blossomed out. All the natural merriment, 
gaiety, and buoyancy which was extinguished soon after her 
nineteenth birthday, on her sale to Sir Ambrose in St. 
George’s, Hanover Square, began to revive under the influ- 
ence of agreeable social surroundings during that winter at 
Baden. In Mayfair she was the cold, stately, baronet’s wufe, 
in whose face regret and hopelessness were plainly written. In 
Baden she gradually became one of the brightest and most 
animated of the merry little party collected there. 

“Why, Elsie,” said Bob one day, “I declare you look five 
years younger than when we ran away together ! ’ ’ 

“Well, I’m only twenty-six, after all. Run and get my 
skates, there’s a dear, and we’ll take off another year or two. 
Oh ! the joy of emancipation. Bob ! You can’t imagine it. I 
feel like a child let loose from school.” 

It was strange she fell in love with none of her ardent 
admirers. It was strange that she had reached the age of 
twenty-six perfectly heart-whole. But then the Spring of her 
womanhood was overshadowed by Sir Ambrose, and she was 
too proud to look outside her home for a lover. Here at 


GRACE CAR C/S, 


59 


Baden she was to all men and women alike amiable and gra- 
cious ; but to those who went beyond the line of friendship 
she quickly gave an unmistakable congL 

^^Pity you didn’t know my sister Grace. She’s quite an- 
other sort,” said Bob, consolingly, to the discharged and 

departing Count K on the morning after the bal viasque. 

Quite anozer sort. What is zat?” asked the count, un- 
versed in English argot. 

^^Oh! you know — a jolly girl! She wouldn’t send you 
packing because you made love to her. As likely as not, 
she’d talk about love for an hour — tell you what it is, what it 
was, what it is likely to be, into how many points the subject’s 
divided — in fact, turn it inside out like an old glove, and 
leave you speechless. That’s how she treats me.” 

‘‘ Oh 1” said the count. ‘‘I do not zink I vill vait until 
Mees Grace arrives. Adieu, cher ami. Adieu.” 

She’s a Girton girl, you know,” called Bob after his 
friend apologetically. 

But the count was out of hearing. 


VII. 

GRACE CARUS. 

Spring burst out suddenly. A rapid, determined, sloppy 
thaw, made endurable by sunshine and blue skies. The little 
Oosbach almost overflowed its banks with foaming snow broth. 
The great sheet of ice, many inches thick, which lay on a safe 
meadow, the scene of festive night ice-carnivals lit up by 
torches, coloured lanterns, and cressets, was cut up and carted 
away to the ice-houses of the hotels. The droschke drivers 
removed the straight runners from their carriages and replaced 
them with circles. The grass greened ; every twig became 
tipped with tender bud, birds sang, and pipes which had been 


6o 


LADY VADS ELOPEMENT, 


exploded long before by the ice within them, now explained 
their sad condition by weeping copiously. 

At this time of rejoicing for mortals, birds, and plumbers, 
Grace Carus arrived at Baden. ‘‘Miss Carus and suite, 
Amalienberg Hotel, w^as the announcement in the Fremden 
Blatt, the suite consisting of “ Poodles,’’ an elderly, masculine- 
looking Frenchwoman, a terror to douaniers and hotel-keepers. 
Grace had rechristened her maid, whose French name was 
more or less unpronounceable. 

Behold the two sisters on the night of Grace’s arrival, hold- 
ing converse in Lady Val’s room. Both in warm dressing- 
gowns, the elder with her fringe screwed flat to her head by 
means of certain ingenious metal contrivances. Grace was 
above such frivolities, and wore her hair cut d la Vho7nme. 

“Life is too brief as it is,” she would say. “By having 
short hair, one can save half an hour a day, or a hundred and 
eighty hours a year. Assuming one’s day consists of fourteen 
hours, the saving of time in the year Is thirteen days. Spread 
over a life of threescore and ten years, and making due 
allowance for childhood, there is a saving of time amounting 
to about two years and a half. There is also a saving of 
money, for there are no hairpins, nets, or other hairdressing 
contrivances required. There is even a saving of shoe leather, 
as by reducing the weight of the superfluous hair the wear of 
the boot-soles is reduced. Now, I ask you, my dear, apart 
from all other considerations, is not practically lengthening 
one’s life by two and a half years a good and sufflcient reason 
for cutting one’s hair short?” 

“ Dear,” whoever she might be, would be struck dumb by 
such remarkable and forcible arguments, but after a time, if 
she was very bold, would probably murmur, “But it doesn’t 
suit everybody,” whereupon Grace would become scorn- 
ful. 

This very positive and practical young lady was a year 
younger than her sister, and a contrast to her in several ways. 
Lady Val was tall, dark, and oval- faced, with low, broad fore- 


GRACE CAR US, 


6i 


head ; Grace was of middle height, and fair. The intelligence 
natural to her pleasant face had been considerably increased 
by her course of study at Girton. Perhaps as to the features 
no single one could be termed good, but together they com- 
posed well. Those who saw her for the first time were apt to 
be attracted by her singularly keen yet sympathetic grey eyes, 
and note little else. 

‘‘I thought you would have come months ago,’* said Lady 
Val. 

I only received your letter last week. I was in Italy, and 
about starting for England, when I heard of the persecution 
of the Armenians, so Poodles and I ran across to Turkey to see 
if there was anything in it. Did you read those letters on 
Armenia in The Daily Gazelle ?' ’ 

^^Yes, some of them. Lord Adolphus, who stayed a few 
days at the hotel in the winter, said they were the talk of 
London, and did more than anything else to stir up the min- 
isters to action.” 

Action ? H’m ! — The letters were mine.” 

Yours?” 

‘‘Yes, a first effort in journalism. I mean to go on with it, 
for the Press rules the world, can make peace or war, redress 
wrongs, impoverish, enrich, do anything. Why, with a com- 
bined effort on the part of the editors, England could be con- 
verted to Islam, or men be induced to wear crinolines in the 
course of a year or two. My dear, its power is simply marvel- 
lous !” and she laughed merrily. 

“You are a marvellous girl ! I wish you and your press 
would do something for our poor farm labourers at Revels- 
bury, and agricultural depression,” said the wife of the country 
magnate. 

“ I’ll see about it,” said Grace, as confidently as if the task 
was a simple little problem in trigonometry. “ But I don’t 
understand how you came to leave that man,” she continued. 
“ When in town, I heard he was flirting in a most barefaced 
way with an American widow, and it is said he means to 

6 


62 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT, 


marry her as soon as he can get a divorce from you. He has 
sent detectives after you. He told several people so.** 

Lady Val, who had been leaning back in a rocking-chair, sat 
up very straight, and looked not a little startled. 

‘‘A divorce from me!** she said. ‘‘Why! I have done 
nothing for which he could get a divorce.** 

“ No, but he thinks you have, and I don*t understand it in 
the least. He declares he saw you at a music hall with some 
man. Why shouldn*t you be at a music hall with a man, if 
you want to ?’ * 

“Why! that was Bob,** said Lady Val. “I suppose Sir 
Ambrose did not know him again. You see, he*d been five 
years away in Africa. I never told you ; but when I was first 
engaged. Bob made a great fuss about it, as indeed you did 
too, dear, and said something to Sir Ambrose one day which 
put him in one of his violent passions. He could never bear 
the sight of the boy after, and as soon as we were married, 
ordered me never to see him again.** 

“ The brute !** interjected Grace, sympathetically. 

“ It didn*t matter much then, so I said nothing to you about 
it, as Bob was just leaving for the Cape. When he came home, 
he wrote that he wanted to see me as soon as I could arrange 
it. Sir Ambrose had to go to a city dinner on the thirteenth 
of February, so I told Bob I’d meet him in Oxford Circus 
that night. There was a fearful fog, so we turned into the 
first place we came to for dinner, which happened to be the 
Caf6 Royal. After dinner — I’m afraid Bob had a little too 
much champagne — he insisted on our going to a music hall — 
lots of ladies do now, you know, dear, — so a cab was called, 
and we were driven at a walking pace, with men holding 
torches in front of us, to the Palace. We stopped there an 
hour, and then started for home. Bob came with me, as the 
streets were so dark. When I knocked at the door, Williams 
wouldn’t let me in, and said it was his master’s orders.” 

“But you didn’t put up with that, surely?” exclaimed 
Lady Val’s independent little sister, indignantly. 


GRACE CARUS, 


63 


Well, I couldn’t force my way in. All I could under- 
stand was that Sir Ambrose had seen me with some one, and 
was in a passion about it. I supposed he was angry because I 
was with Bob against his orders, and as the door was shut in 
my face, and he had been treating me very badly for some 
time, I made up my mind never to go back to him. So Bob 
and I went off together, and here we are, and I haven’t 
regretted it for a moment, as, thanks to poor Uncle Robert, I 
have a little income of my own.” 

‘^It would have been better for you to have swept a cross- 
ing than to be married to that man,” said Grace, vehemently, 
rising from the couch on which she had been stretched, and 
pacing the room. ‘‘You were simply sold to him for the 
money mother owed him. If you had run away with some 
one who wasn’t a brother, I shouldn’t have blamed you one 
bit. You had no children to consider. What’s the differ- 
ence between the way you were treated and the poor creatures 
in the streets ? It is simply a sale of the body in both cases to 
gratify a horrid man’s desires, only in your case associated 
with the rank hypocrisy of that religious ceremony at St. 
George’s, which made it worse.” 

“ Grace 1” 

It was a cry of agony, and Lady Val, who had been turn- 
ing red and pale as she listened to the torrent of indignation 
which fell from her sister’s lips, burst into tears. 

“Oh, you poor darling!” said Grace, running to her and 
holding her fast. “ Don’t cry, for goodness’ sake. You 
acted like a martyr, sacrificing yourself for us. Ah ! if I had 
only been a little older, no Sir Ambrose should have bought 
you. And there’s no law to free you, that’s the worst of it. 
You’re bound to the wretch for the rest of your life. You 
can keep out of his way. You ’ ’ (with tremendous emphasis 
on the “ you won’t want to marry again.” 

“But he does,” sobbed Lady Val. 

“ He’ll have to give up that when he hears it was Bob who 
was with you.” 


64 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT, 


“ Perhaps he won’t believe it,” said Lady Val, wiping her 
eyes on a dainty lace pocket-handkerchief. 

‘‘ My dear, he can’t do anything except annoy you by com- 
ing after you. Europe’s a big place, and you may both travel 
about for years without meeting one another. The doctrine 
of chance almost forbids it. ’ ’ 

Surely he’s not travelling on the Continent?” 

I think he must be. I had a letter from your maid, Ina, 
a day or two after I returned from Armenia. I suppose the 
girl hears things from the servants at the Manor House. 
Anyway, she told me Sir Ambrose was just leaving for Paris 
to commence a search after you himself.” 

^‘Oh, he’ll find me, and take me back with him!” cried 
Lady Val, turning very pale. 

She seemed for once to have lost her spirit. 

‘‘No, my dear, he won’t. Besides, he’s not in the least 
likely to find you ; and I am going to look after you. I am 
planning an expedition to Norway this summer ; we can go 
together. Bob will like it for the fishing. I want to study 
the land system there. It’s very socialistic, I’m told. Land 
held by the State ; and they manage without workhouses. All 
the small farmers as poor as church mice, and yet as happy as 
possible. No destitution at all.” 

“I should like to go,” said Lady Val. “Most of our 
friends are leaving shortly, and I should hardly think Sir 
Ambrose would look for me there.” 

“I shall take Ina. But I didn’t tell you — the girl wants 
to come to me. Her father’s had notice to quit Springbrook 
Farm.” 

“What! Joseph Springbrook had notice? Why, he was 
Sir Ambrose’s best tenant !” exclaimed Lady Val. 

“Indeed he has; why or wherefore, no one knows. It 
seems one of those insane acts that the superior beings who 
keep us out of the House of Commons are so fond of. Ina 
wants to go into service again. ’ ’ 

^ “ But you have Poodles.” 


GRACE CAR C/S, 65 

I find her too masterful. When I began to travel her 
strong-mindedness was useful, but now ” 

^‘You’re sufficiently strong-minded to do without her,’* 
said Lady Val, a smile spreading over her face, which had 
been very sad throughout this confidential chat. 

^‘People say so,” said Grace, laughing and sitting down 
on a stool at her sister’s feet. I shall make more of a com- 
panion than maid of her, you know. She’s above the domes- 
tic servant class, and a very charming little creature.” 

‘‘Yes, but don’t make her strong-minded; there’s a dear. 
It would be too terrible for the poor men you meet to have to 
encounter two New Women.” 

Grace gave a shudder. 

“ Oh ! don’t class me with that set !” 

“But you have some rather new ideas, dear — about mar- 
riage, for instance.” 

The remark touched the knob of one of the strong-minded 
young lady’s hobby machines which was always wound up 
ready for action and set off working with great rapidity. 

“ Well, haven’t you found out that it’s an act of folly for a 
woman to tie herself for life to a man before she knows 
whether she will be happy with him or not?” 

“Perhaps I have; but how are women to find out?” 

“ I think a pair ought to live together for a year, and have 
the option of separating at the end of it, or at any time for 
that matter.” 

“ But the children ! Why, it’s like advocating free love !” 

“There might be children. Yes, that would be a diffi- 
culty ; they would have to be legitimised. But if we made 
divorce easier we should abolish free love, and legitimise the 
children. It would be better for them to be divided between 
the mother and father than to be brought up in a discordant 
household. I think we must drop the word ‘divorce,’ 
though; it has horrid associations. We’ll call our own new 
divorce ‘ dissolution.’ After all, marriage is only a contract; 
and why, I should like to know, should not the parties be 
e 6 ^ 


66 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT. 


allowed to mutually concur in breaking their agreement if they 
find the arrangement does not suit them?” 

‘‘But when women lose their attractions so many men 
would tire of them. I am afraid it would be a poor look-out 
for some of us,” said Lady Val, thoughtfully. 

Grace took a different view, If a man tired of a woman, all 
the more reason for them to separate, she thought. 

And having reformed our social system in general, and 
marriage laws in particular, to their satisfaction, these two 
young ladies separated, and were soon sleeping in their re- 
spective chambrcs d coucher. Their slumbers might have been 
less peaceful had they known that on the previous day Sir 

Ambrose Val met Count K in Paris at the Cercle des 

Etrangersy and heard sufficient of the beautiful English lady 
of title travelling incognito to make him very desirous of in- 
vestigating further into the antecedents of the “loafly Mrs. 
Hutchinson’ ’ and her brother. 

“Brother, indeed!” thought our “wicked baronet,” with 
an inward sneer. 


VIII. 

A CHAPTER WITH A PURPOSE AND A CABLEGRAM. 

Why “ Independent Gentlemen” ? The question is easier 
answered than the one put in an earlier chapter by Jonathan 
Kingley — to wit, why “Aunt” Tabby? 

To the simple, bucolic mind of Revelsbury there were three 
classes in the world — the squirearchy-cum-established clergy, 
the farmers-cum-tradesmen-cum-noncon. ministers, and the 
labourers. Mr. Goodenough had no acres, he was in nowise 
clerical, and he neither preached, traded, nor laboured in the 
fields. So they determined he was of some rare and curious 
species, and made him a class to himself with an entirely new 
and original name, based on the fact that he was independent 


A CHAPTER WITH A PURPOSE AND A CABLEGRAM. 67 

of work and had the deportment and manners and dress of 
that peculiarly English abstraction, a gentleman. 

Mr. Goodenough arrived at Revelsbury a few years previous 
to the opening of our story. With him his daughter, a bright 
child of six ; a grey pony, the brown-eyed collie aforesaid, and 
a brace of rosy-cheeked, pleasant-looking domestics. His ar- 
rival — none knew whence — was only a nine days’ wonder, for 
the new-comer was reserved, and showed a desire for retire- 
ment, spending long days on the Thames with child and dog, 
and taking no part in penny-readings, choir concerts, and 
other village high jinks. 

One day he met a sailor lad home for a holiday, wearing 
the neck-exposing blouse and bell-shaped trousers peculiar to 
our defensive marine. 

Where away, Jack?” said the Independent Gentle- 
man. 

To Donningcote, sir,” answered the lad. 

Fm bound that way myself.” 

So they journeyed side by side, the Independent Gentle- 
man plying the young salt with questions concerning Ports- 
mouth and the ships stationed there or refitting. 

A select circle gathered in the village inn that evening to 
hear a recital of Jack’s stirring adventures and tales of the sea 
arising out of his sojourn in Portsmouth harbour. 

^‘I met the Independent Gentleman this morning,” said 
Jack, and, you mark my words, he has been to sea himself. 
He said a thing or two just like a sailor, and asked me all 
manner of questions about my voyages. ’ ’ 

Jack’s most extended ‘^voyage” had been across the Solent 
in the training-ship’s cutter, to row in the town regatta at 
Cowes ; but he had made frequent cruises between the respec- 
tive Hards of Gosport and Portsmouth, and, let me tell you, 
when a strong flood tide is swooshing out of the harbour, 
burying even the mooring buoys by its force, such expeditions 
are not without their excitement and dangers. 

On Jack’s authority, therefore, the Independent Gentleman 


68 


LADY VADS ELOPEMENT. 


had been to sea. But there was to be further food for the 
village gossips. 

One June morning, when the roses in the cottage gardens 
were basking in the sunshine and scenting the air, two very- 
smart barouches, with splendid horses, came dashing into 
Revelsbury. Never before in that village had been seen such 
magnificent carriages, the panels of which shone like glass ; 
such elegantly-attired grooms, such stately coachmen, such 
harness glittering with silver, the leather even polished up to 
such a pitch of shininess that Dr. Lancet’s boots on a hunting 
morning were as nothing to it. And these gorgeous equi- 
pages pulled up very sharply at the gate of the creeper-covered 
house, surrounded by a garden full of old-fashioned flowers, 
wherein dwelt Mr. Goodenough. 

The children running home from school gathered around. 
The men going dinnerwards from their work in the farmyards 
stopped a little distance off and looked on with a dull kind 
of amazement. Joe’s mother, with her last new baby on her 
arm, came to the cottage door. At least fourteen persons, 
young and old, collected to admire, gaze upon, wonder at, 
and compare notes concerning the visitors. 

In the words of old, bandy-legged, bald-headed Coffin, 
parish clerk, grave-digger, bell-ringer, and holder of other 
parochial offices — in fact, a bloated pluralist — in the words, I 
say, of this worthy, there was ‘^a dense kerowd” collected 
about the ‘‘Moorings” — as Mr. Goodenough had named the 
farm-house he tenanted. 

But while the carriages, horses, and attendants were splen- 
did, those whom they brought thither were disappointing — 
three quietly dressed ladies, and two men in suits of tweed. 
Mr. Goodenough, however, regardless of his reputation for 
independence, received them bareheaded and with much def- 
erence. The party alighted and entered the house, where, it 
seems, they were not expected, for presently Mary, one of the 
rosy-cheeked maids, was scouring the village for eggs, poultry, 
and fresh butter. 


A CHAPTER WITH A PURPOSE AND A CABLEGRAM, 69 


The carriages had to be put up at the Speckled Trout, for 
Mr. Goodenough’s stable-room was limited, and the landlord 
told a select circle that night how the way them grooms talked 
familiar-like of princes and princesses and dooks and lords and 
ladies, made him that there flabbergasted, as he said to his 
missis, that he’d never heard the like in all his born days. 

‘‘I sez to ’um, I was s’ prised Mr. Goodenough had such 
fine visitors, for I didn’t think as how ’e was a rich man. 
^ Who are you calling Mr. Goodenough ?’ sez one, and then 
the biggest of the two coachmen gives him a nudge as if to 
say ^ shet up,’ and not another word could I get out of ’um,” 
said Elijah Potts. 

Didn’t ’um say where ’um was acum from, Mr. Potts?” 
asked Farmer Corneby’s shepherd, a tall, wiry, clean-shaven 
man. 

Ah, I did that. It wor Windsor, that wor it.” 

And that surmise of the sailor lad and the visit of the 
strangers, whose servants’ talk was of the high ones of the 
earth, were the only two facts which aided the inventive 
genius of the village gossips in their endeavour to sketch out 
a past for the Independent Gentleman. 

The maids may have known something, but when ques- 
tioned, as often happened at first, they simply answered. 

You had better ask master.” 

After the great revolution, all surmises as to the Indepen- 
dent Gentleman’s past were swept out of the villagers’ heads 
by their keen interest in his present. For years Revelsbury 
had been ruled by autocratic slow-coaches, who, while careful 
enough of their own interests, only troubled themselves with 
the rights of their poorer neighbours when they had the time 
and inclination. A charity or two was lost from simply 
neglecting to collect the money from those who held the 
charity lands. Record and accounts of other charities entirely 
disappeared. The Poor Law Guardians neglected the poor ; 
one attended no Board meeting for nearly a year — his excuse 
was perhaps sound, he ‘‘could do no good” when he did go. 


70 


LADY VArS ELOPEMENT, 


The harsh treatment the applicants for relief received at the 
hands of Sir Ambrose and his colleagues made his blood boil, 
he said. He longed to punch their heads. But this was a 
young man, and new to the neighbourhood. 

When made a guardian, the Independent Gentleman, with 
an Act of Parliament behind him, did not merely long to 
punch — he hit out straight from the shoulder. His blows 
were heavy, and soon began to tell. 

‘‘It is rank hypocrisy to say that you benefit the poor by 
refusing them outdoor relief. These poor creatures, with 
their eleven shillings a week, cannot provide for old age, and 
their children are often as badly off as themselves. You give 
them starvation wages (most of the guardians were farmers), 
they work honestly and well for over half a century, they in- 
crease the wealth of England, their lives are splendid exam- 
ples of thrift and industry ; and yet you who live, and live 
well, out of their labours, hard-hearted men that you are, 
reward them with a white-washed prison in the evening of 
their life.*' 

Sir Ambrose vainly pointed out how the rates had been re- 
duced under his hard rule. 

“Yes," said the Independent Gentleman, “ if you refuse a 
man, be he deserving or not, it costs less than giving him 
help. It is just the most deserving people who prefer to starve 
rather than come into the workhouse. And in your meanness 
you often refuse relief, well knowing the charitable will come 
to the rescue and prevent the scandal of a starvation case. I 
should like to know why kind-hearted persons should be 
expected to bear burdens which, in common fairness, should 
be distributed over the shoulders of all in proportion to their 
wealth. Why, to give out of charity to one who has a claim 
on the rates is to give as much to the rate-payers as to the 
destitute persons. Oh ! oh ! it’s fine fun for you to see the 
charitable relieving the rates of the uncharitable !’’ 

His fellow guardians did not love the Independent Gentle- 
man any the more for remarks such as these. 


A CHAPTER WITH A PURPOSE AND A CABLEGRAM, 71 

Come in here he said, one day late in May, to Gerald, 
who was spending a few days with Farmer Springbrook and 
his beloved Ina. ‘‘ Come and see one of the best old women 
in the world ! ’ ’ 

They entered a little lean-to building at the back of a cot- 
tage, which consisted of two small rooms, both scrupulously 
clean. On the wide hearth burned a few sticks. By the fire- 
side sat a bent old woman, with face deeply lined. A Bible 
was on a table near her, and upon it her horn-framed spectacles. 
A few flowers were in a cracked jug. A couple of rickety 
chairs and a table were the sole articles of furniture. She 
lifted a good, honest face to her visitors, and rose to receive 
them. 

‘‘Don’t get up, Martha; sit quiet. Well, how have you 
been getting on ?’ ’ 

“Nicely, thank you, sir,” was the reply, in a weak, 
quavering voice. “But the doctor says I mustn’t work any 
more. I suppose if he says so ’ ’ 

“ Of course you mustn’t. Why ! how long have you been 
a widow?” asked Mr. Goodenough. 

“Twenty-two years come July,” answered the old woman. 

“And you have kept yourself all that time washing, eh? 
And you kept on washing until your legs began to swell ?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“And you are not satisfied now you are seventy-five, and 
want to go on working?” 

“Well, sir, if I could work I would.” 

“And how much do the guardians give you?” 

“Two and ninepence and a half loaf ; but I am very thank- 
ful for that, sir. It is better than the House.” 

“ That is the most they ever give to a widow wit^put cWl: 
dren. Let me see, your rent’s eighteenpence, and I suppose 
your firing is — how much ?’ ’ 

“About a shilling in winter, sir; not quite so much 
now.” 

“And that leaves you four pounds of bread and threepence 


72 


LADY VADS ELOPEMENT, 


a week to live on ! Think of that, Gerald ! What is the 
matter with your finger ? Is it rheumatism ?’ ^ 

Martha smiled, and hesitated before replying. She had 
been holding the tips of her thumb and second finger together 
all through the interview. 

It’s a little pinch of snuff, sir, I was just going to take 
when you came in.” 

‘^And you didn’t like to waste it or take it? My dear 
woman. I’ll send you a ton of snuff, or something better. 
Good-bye, good-bye.” And the Independent Gentleman 
rushed out, for he hated being thanked. 

^‘By Gad ! that pinch of snuff nearly made me pipe my 
eye,” said he, when they were outside. Think of the poor 
creature so destitute that she would not waste a few grains of 
tobacco dust, and yet so careful of offending our susceptibil- 
ities that she would not take the stuff while we were in the 
room ! ’ ’ 

‘^But the threepence a week and half a gallon of bread, 
that’s too horrible !” exclaimed Gerald. 

‘‘The curse of the system is that there is no appeal,” said 
the Independent Gentleman, indignantly. “The men who 
put themselves forward to be guardians are mostly of the class 
who think of their own pockets before they give a thought to 
the sufferings of the poor. Some of them seem to regard 
poverty as a sort of crime. The poor ought to have the right 
to appeal to a county court judge — without costs, mind. That 
ought to be the law.” 

“ What ! isn’t it?” said Gerald. “ You don’t mean to tell 
me that it is in the power of the guardians to let these people 
starve to death ?’ ’ 

“Ido! There is no appeal, though the distinction be- 
tween deserving and undeserving cases is far more difficult 
than the trial of many actions in the law courts ; we have in- 
sufficient evidence, and the men who have to decide upon it 
are farmers, shop-keepers, and unbusinesslike parsons, most 


A CHAPTER WITH A PURPOSE AND A CABLEGRAM. 73 

of whom seem absolutely wanting in judicial qualities. Of 
course anyone can go into the House ; that’s how the guar- 
dians simplify their work and evade the responsibility. But 
the class who most deserve help won’t go into the House.” 

But how would you reform this hateful system?” 

Easily enough, and with a very short Act of Parliament, 
too. Here you are : 

Clause I. — All Guardians of the Poor shall give to de- 
serving persons who are destitute and not able-bodied such 
sums of money or other relief as shall, with any other sources 
of support, suffice to provide them with the necessaries of life 
in the district in which they live. 

How will that do ?” 

Capital ! I wouldn’t alter a word of it.” 

^^Well, now, Clause 2. — Any person who considers him or 
herself entitled to relief under clause i, and has been refused 
such relief by the Guardians, may appeal to the judge of any 
county court in that union. The cost of such appeal shall be 
paid by the rate-payers of the union if the judge, after hear- 
ing the witnesses called by the appellant and the Guardians, 
shall decide that the appellant is entitled to relief, which 
relief he shall order to be given. 

You see, the beauty of the plan is that you get the case 
inquired into by an experienced judge, and the witnesses ex- 
amined on oath.” 

‘^But if the guardians gain the day, how about costs?” 
queried Gerald. 

They would then come out of imperial funds, I think,” 
answered Mr. Goodenough. But I want other clauses pro- 
hibiting the rearing of children in workhouses, providing 
forced labour for professional tramps, emigrating them if pos- 
sible, and safe-guarding dona fide working-men walking in 
search of work by tickets or other means. ’ ’ 

“It seems to me,” said Gerald, “ that old age pensions are 
hardly needed if your system were carried out. But it should 
be made clear that those who work for such low wages that 

D 7 


74 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT, 


they cannot provide for old age, should not be considered as 
in any way disgraced by getting this relief. For instance, 
they should retain their votes for a member of Parliament.*' 

^‘Oh! don't talk to me of Parliament!" exclaimed Mr. 
Goodenough. I am sick of it. Fancy a body of English 
gentlemen knowing that these things are, and allowing them 
to remain for a single day ! Both parties ought to combine 
for this purpose, and, regardless of gaining or losing votes, 
pass a measure which would remove these scandals. But the 
guardians are such a power in the land ! Why, even a Royal 
Commission reports against increasing the power of the Local 
Government Board over them, for fear of causing the dear 
creatures irritation . ' ' 

Irritation ?" queried Gerald. 

Yes, that's the word they used in their report. I wish to 
God some of the commissioners would try life on two and 
nine and half a loaf a week ! They would feel less disinclined 
to irritate guardians then. But come into this cottage. I 
want to show you an old couple named Franklin. They are 
the embodiment of content, humility, and happiness, and yet 
they are more or less starving on four and six a week and a 
gallon of bread. That is the most the guardians give to an 
old couple without children. Deduct the outlay on rent and 
firing, and they get only a shilling a week each, and four 
pounds of bread for food, drink, clothes, and sundry expenses I 
It's slow starvation." 

The dwelling-place of John Franklin and his wife was a 
very old farm-house, which had been divided into two 
labourers' cottages when the common lands were enclosed and 
the small farmers lost their grazing rights and were snuffed 
out. There were a dozen such houses in Revelsbury ; in fact, 
Mr. Goodenough lived in one himself. Part of the house 
was divided from the road by a damp little brick-yard, in 
which grew an ancient yew, but a couple of rooms abutted on 
the roadway, the upper storey of half-timbered work project- 
ing some distance. Several stone steps led up to a large hall 


A CHAPTER WITH A PURPOSE AND A CABLEGRAM. 75 

door, long devoid of paint, which still bore a curiously 
wrought iron knocker. The mortar had fallen from the joints 
between the bricks; the dilapidated tiles of the roof were 
covered with golden lichens and patches of stone crop. 

Entering the door, they found themselves in a large panelled 
room, once the farm-house kitchen. The man, tall and up- 
right, toothless, but rosy of cheek, with some scanty grey 
hair on his face, sat nigh the chimney-nook in a straight- 
backed, old-fashioned wooden chair with arms. His wife, in 
sun-bonnet, spotless white apron, her grey hair smoothed over 
a broad brow, sat on a low chair beside him. She had been 
a handsome woman once, but her face now showed traces of 
toil and privation. 

Old John worked until he was seventy-five, when he fell 
off a cart and sprained his hip. He will never work again, poor 
fellow. I half fear his good wife is starving herself that he may 
have enough food,’’ whispered Mr. Goodenough to Gerald as 
they were entering the house. 

‘‘Well, old friends, so Mr. Corneby is letting you stop on. 
That is good news indeed.” 

The old woman rose briskly, dusted two chairs, and placed 
them for the visitors. 

“ Oh, yes, sir. He’s very good. He had given us notice 
to leave, and there was no other cottage for us, so we should 
have gone into the House, but he has managed to do without 
turning us out, and we may stop here a little longer. Every- 
one is very good to us.” 

“ Umph !” said the Independent Gentleman. “ How long 
did you work for him, John ?” 

“ Nigh on sixty-three years, sir; leastways, not all for him, 
but for his father and grandfather before him,” answered the 
old man. 

“John always worked on that farm,” added Mrs. Frank- 
lin. 

“ And for what wages?” 

“ When I wor a young man, me and the missus had ten 


76 


LADY FADS ELOPEMENT, 


shillings ; and bread was dear ; but we managed to send 
Polly to school, though it cost us sixpence a week in those 
days.'* 

What did wheat sell for then?" asked Mr. Goodenough. 

*‘It was sometimes fifty and sometimes more, if I rightly 
remember, sir. ' ’ 

“ So you did not get such high wages when the farmers were 
making fortunes and bread was dear as you did later on, when 
the farmers got less and bread was cheap?" 

John had eleven shillings a week when he was took ill, and 
a little extra at harvest time ; but harvest doesn't bring in 
much nowadays ; the machines do the women and children's 
work," said Mrs. Franklin. 

“ Here's an object-lesson for you in the value of protection 
to the labourer," said Mr. Goodenough, turning to Gerald. 

I can’t understand how they managed to live at all in the 
old days," said Ina’s lover. 

Old John answered him. 

“You see, sir, in the old days there was a small farmer in 
nigh every third house in the village. He had his bit of arable, 
and there was grass lands all around. All these big fields be- 
hind the village were in grass when I was a boy, and any of us 
could keep a pig and a few geese and ducks, cut bracken, and 
have wood for the picking up, and food for a pony, or even a 
sheep.or two. Then some new law gave nearly all the common 
to the lord of the manor, and it was let off in big farms, for 
the smaller farmers, though they had bits given them, had not 
enough to live on." 

“ And why didn't you get a strip when the land was en- 
closed?" 

“We didn’t understand what was done, sir, or that we’d 
got a right to any of it. Perhaps if we'd asked for it we should 
have had it." 

“That’s what makes me so savage," said Mr. Goodenough. 
“ In this out-of-the-way place they take advantage of the igno- 
rance of the poor to rob them of the few rights and privileges 


A CHAPTER WITH A PURPOSE AND A CABLEGRAM. 77 

they possess, and there is that confounded Statute of Limita- 
tions which legalises robbery of land after twelve years.’* 

‘‘You see, landowners are the law-makers,” said that radi- 
cal Gerald, ‘ ‘ but directly any attempt is made to take land 
compulsorily for the advantage of the working- classes, it is 
called spoliation, even though it is paid for. ’ ’ 

“If the working men were the law-makers, they’d favour 
their own class,” said Mr. Goodenough. “ The landowners 
are not so bad as they’re often painted. After all, human 
nature is very much the same in all ranks of life. Come, 
we must be going. I am afraid, John, our talk is not very 
interesting. ’ ’ 

“ Have you got any apples, sir?” asked the good- wife. 

“Ah! I heard you had some to sell,” said Mr. Good- 
enough. 

The old lady smiled. 

“ No, sir, we’ve sold most of them ; but I thought you 
would accept a few for the little girl.” 

“ What ! take your apples ! No, I couldn’t. Why, you 
could sell them 1 ’ ’ 

“We would like to give them to you, sir. You have been 
so kind to us.” 

Mr. Goodenough was touched. 

“ My good woman,” he said, “ your wish I value more than 
I can express. To think of you, with your wretched allowance, 
wishing to give me anything. No, I won’t take your apples, 
not on any account. Keep one to give to Gwen next time 
she comes to see you.” 

“ ’Pon my honour,” he said to Gerald, as they went down 
the steps, “ I never pay that dear old couple a visit without 
feeling a better man when I leave them. Now let us go and 
fetch Ina, and spend the rest of the day on the river. ’ ’ 

Gerald was nothing loath. So to Springbrook Farm they 
strolled, and found our sweet maiden gathering roses. Gerald 
thought the gay flowers all around her looked quite dull com- 
pared with her dainty radiant self. She had just pricked her 

7 * 


78 


LADY VAUS ELOPEMENT, 


finger with a rose-thorn, and there was a pretty pout on the 
little red lips. But how quickly it disappeared as she raised 
her long-lashed eyelids, which hid those deep violet eyes, and 
viewed her lover and his friend standing by the gate. What 
a sweet smile she gave them, and how soon a tiny dimple ap- 
peared just above each corner of her dainty mouth — dimples 
such as those in which Cupid loves to lurk. 

The Independent Gentleman thought he had never seen a 
prettier sight than this maiden standing among the rose-bushes 
smiling on her lover, her glorious golden-brown hair glisten- 
ing as the sunlight shone through it, and her large garden-hat 
thrown back, slung round her neck with a broad ribbon, and 
forming a straw nimbus. 

Tea on the river? Nothing could be more delightful. 
She would bring some rock cakes she had been making. 

They strolled back to the moorings’’ to pick up a wonder- 
ful tea-basket which contained sundry strange and ingenious 
contrivances, most useful (when they did not explode or up- 
set) for making tea. Then their way to the river led them 
through the orchard, and across the meadows to the mouth of 
the brook where Mr. Goodenough had a boat-house, in which 
everything was neat, bright, and shipshape, as on a man-o’- 
war. And there lay a trim little mahogany punt, with pol- 
ished brass fitting, and glorious Eastern rugs and soft cushions, 
all ready for them. 

There had been, earlier in the day, just a little cloud be- 
tween Ina and Gerald. Against his wish the girl had de- 
cided to take the situation of travelling companion to Miss 
Grace Cams. Her father insisted that she was too young to 
marry yet awhile. Owing to the loss of his farm, it was pos- 
sible he might not be in a position to provide for her, and 
both he and she thought it was a wise thing for her to spend 
a year, or a little longer, with Lady Val’s remarkable sister. 

Gerald, on the other hand, thought that the ;£ioo or 
thereabouts a year which he made, partly in salary for work 
in connection with the old bookshop, and partly by occasional 


A CHAPTER WITH A PURPOSE AND A CABLEGRAM 79 


efforts in journalism, was enough to start with. He had hopes 
of increasing this sum very soon by means of essays on various 
social problems, and more ambitious efforts in literature. In 
any case, he hated the idea of the girl leaving Revelsbury, 
and being exposed to the admiration of men innumerable. 
She had asked him if he doubted her constancy, and declared 
that she would be true to him whatever happened. 

And this, the nearest approach to a little quarrel since that 
foggy night in the Mayfair portico, when Gerald took an ob- 
jection to James’s and the fishmonger’s attentions, was made 
up very quickly in the way lovers make up such things. 

How delightful was the river that evening ! My dear 
young friends from London, how little you know your 
Thames, you who visit it only in August when Nature is 
dowdy. 

The soft, southerly air whispered through the boughs, bend- 
ing the sedges and flowers of the yellow iris, and bearing on 
its wings the sound of tinkling sheep-bells, and the barking 
of a shepherd’s noisy collie. Two plovers rose above their 
nesting-place in the meadow, cried to one another, circled 
once or twice, and settled again. Flop ! some big fish rose 
to a fly which had dropped off an overhanging branch. There 
was a constant twittering of birds nestling in the hedgerows. 
From a May-bush came the monotonous hum of bees busily 
robbing the scented flowers. Under the lea of the copse on 
the opposite bank, where the silvery ripple was not, a clear 
blue sky, with here and there masses of white clouds, was re- 
flected in the water. In colour. Nature is very sweet at this 
time of year. The sun sparkled on the half-leaved willow 
branches of tender green. Glorious yellow kingcups be- 
decked the meadows, and here and there uprose a few belated, 
softly tinted, pale lavender cuckoo flowers. 

The Independent Gentleman placed Ina and Gerald on the 
cushions in the stern, gravely insisted on Ina laying her head 
on Gerald’s arm, and disdaining any assistance, slowly sculled 
the happy pair along, spinning yarns as he went. 


So 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT, 


There is a striking difference between this lovely river 
and some of the muddy streams flowing through mango 
swamps, where we used to catch alligators.” 

‘‘Oh ! do tell us about the alligators,” cried Ina. 

I am afraid the little hypocrite would much rather have 
strolled off and picked kingcups, with Gerald to help or hin- 
der her. But she knew the Independent Gentleman was never 
so happy as when yarn -spinning. So he told them how the 
bait was placed on a piece of wood pointed at both ends, and 
fastened to the ship’s heaving line. How the big reptile took 
the bait and toyed with it until the line was pulled, when, 
said Master Alligator, “You want me to leave go, do you? 
Well, I won’t, so there !” and promptly swallowed it. How, 
later on, in his pain and rage, he would come ashore, and, 
after knocking over half a dozen niggers with a sweep of his 
terrible tail, would be ignominiously shot, “which I can tell 
you, is much more exciting than roach fishing !” concluded the 
Independent Gentleman, and they all laughed at the little joke. 

Then the- story-teller dilated on the voracity of certain little 
brown pigs which attacked alligators at weak points, worried 
them to death, and might be seen devouring their inward 
parts as they floated upside down towards the sea. Wonder- 
ful, amphibious pigs these. 

The cruise of our lovers adown the shining river was inter- 
rupted by an exclamation from Ina. 

“Why, I very nearly forgot about Aunt Tabby! She’s 
coming down this afternoon, and I never told Hodge to go to 
the station, and father’s away trying to sell his lambs. To be 
siye Bridget knows, for I told her to air the bedding in the 
spare room. But she won’t think to send to the station. Oh, 
dear me I I am afraid, Mr. Goodenough, we must go back. 
I am so sorry. It is so nice out here.” 

“I absolutely decline to be hurried,” said Mr. Good- 
enough, “ for Aunt Tabby or anyone else 1” 

But then he did not know Aunt Tabby, or, like the rest of 
the world, would have done anything for her. 


A CHAPTER WITH A PURPOSE AND A CABLEGRAM. 8 1 

you want to hurry/ ^ he continued, ^^that great strong 
chap lying Alongside of you shall change places with me/’ 

For something infinitely less than a moment a shade passed 
over Ina’s face, but she was soon chatting merrily to the Inde- 
pendent Gentleman as he lay beside her, and admired Gerald’s 
broad shoulders, and the long, steady strokes which sent the 
flat, shelving bows of the punt rapidly over the gurgling water. 
Frequent visits to Revelsbury had turned Gerald into a fairly 
expert oarsman, and like most well-built, handsome men, he 
showed to great advantage when sculling. 

Hastily disembarking by an old willow-tree, they all three, 
pushing through the long grass, soon to be laid low by the 
mower’s scythe, for the hay harvest was at hand, made their 
way hurriedly to Springbrook Farm, across the soft green 
meadows, now swept and yellowed by the westering sun. 

Flodge was nowhere to be found ; but then, as Ina said, 
Hodge never was to be found when particularly wanted, he 
was such an annoying boy. So the Independent Gentleman 
and Gerald put the old grey mare between the shafts of the 
rickety old cart, and Ina and her lover drove off side by side 
to the station, where they arrived just as the express from 
London came dashing in. And it was a goodly sight to see 
Aunt Tabby alight, band-box and brown-paper parcel and 
bird-cage in hand, with a settled conviction that her tin box 
had been left at Paddington. 

After she had hugged and been hugged, and the tin box 
had been recovered, and she had been induced to allow the 
band-box and brown-paper parcel to be put under the seat of 
the cart — the bird-cage she resolutely insisted upon holding 
in her hand — she took her place beside Gerald, and the old 
mare lumbered off towards Revelsbury. 

I have brought a telegram for you,” she said to Gerald, 
when they had half completed their journey, ^^and I nearly 
forgot it. I think, but I am not quite sure, it is in my parcel, 
or in the box. It’s a foreign telegram, too.” 

Gerald wondered, for he had no foreign correspondents. 

/ 


82 


LADY VArS ELOPEMENT, 


It was not until the old lady was about retiring to rest that 
she produced a piece of crumpled pink paper, which it ap- 
peared had after all been hidden in the depths of her skirt 
pocket in company with a thimble and needle-case, and a 
packet of court plaster. 

‘‘I have not read it,’’ she said; ‘^but your uncle opened 
it, and told me to say he thinks his brother out in Australia 
may have left two or three hundred pounds behind him.” 

The telegram was very short : 

To Gerald Kingley, Bookseller, Street, Black- 

friars Road, London, England. 

Richard Kingley dead. Property left to you. Letter 
follows. 

^‘Eucal & Gum, Melbourne.” 

All we know about it,” said Aunt Tabby, ‘‘is that your 
Uncle Richard ran away to sea when he was quite a boy, and 
was never heard of till about ten years ago, when he wrote 
home saying he had a little farm in Australia. Jonathan says 
land is not worth very much there how, so he is afraid there’s 
not much for you.” 

Ina and Gerald, with their good friend from the “Moor- 
ings,” and Ina’s father, sat up late that evening in the veran- 
dah at the back of the farm-house, inhaling the odour of 
sweetbriar and lilac, and speculating on the possibilities of 
the Australian fortune. Might it not, thought Gerald, be 
large enough to enable them to marry, and so avoid the hate- 
ful servitude, for so he called it, into which Ina was about to 
place herself? And if Gerald held Ina’s hand in his, and 
sometimes gave it a little squeeze, where was the harm ? 


SIR AMBROSE IN SEARCH OF A WIFE, 


83 


IX. 

SIR AMBROSE IN SEARCH OF A WIFE. 

Sir Ambrose found life in Paris so pleasant that he lingered 
in the gay city for some time after his suspicions were aroused 

by Count K ’s praises of the lovely Mrs. Hutchinson. If 

the truth must be told, that charming but naughty little 
actress of the Gymnase, Helene Diologent, had enthralled 
him with her beaux yeux, and made him reluctant to set out 
for Baden-Baden. 

‘‘What I like about the little Diologent,'* said Lord de 
Gay, confidentially;, one evening to an elderly attache of the 
English Embassy, ‘ ‘ is that she always has the good taste to 
prefer Englishmen to her countrymen." 

“ Thou simple-minded one, 'tis the banking account, not 
the nationality, she adores," replied his friend, lighting a 
cigarette. 

The little lord pondered over this new view of the matter 
for, at least, half a minute. The suggestion hurt his self- 
esteem as an Englishman. 

“But our French friends are not badly off," he argued. 
“L^oville must have, at least, five million francs, for you 
know he keeps a yacht, has a place in Paris, and another in 
Picardy. Yet she threw him over for young Sylvester, fresh 
from Oxford " 

“ — Who spent more on her in a month than Ldoville 
would have given her in a year. There is something in 
foreign air which conduces to the spending of money. I re- 
member when shooting at Shortfurrows — you know Poyntz, he 
married the youngest daughter of Lord Waystacre's, she bolted 
the other day with that little ass, Dimble, who plunged so 
fearfully over the Derby — well, as I was saying, I remember 
when I was shooting with Poyntz he grumbled about buying 
a pony for his boy, gave second-rate wine at dinner, and ex- 


84 


LADY VALS ELOPEMENT, 


cused it on the ground of agricultural depression. Three 
weeks afterwards la belle Helene showed me a diamond brace- 
let he had given her, worth, at least, ;^5oo, and invited me to 
a supper, which he paid for. Half the actresses of the Gym- 
nase were there, and they might have bathed in champagne 
for all he seemed to care. 

So Sir Ambrose stopped in Paris a while longer, preferring 
the joys of the present with the piquante actress to his self- 
imposed detective work and prospective bliss with the widow. 
The smart little American lady was at this time enjoying her 
sprightly self vastly in London, where her father was en- 
deavouring to float a small company to bring out a Patent 
Dynamite Elevator. ^ ' The public, however, were rather shy 
to take shares. Possibly the name of the invention obscured 
their understanding of its merits. 

Most unromantic circumstances combined to set our wicked 
baronet on his travels again. For three days he viewed things 
through a yellow grey haze ; semi-opaque spots — like minia- 
ture soap-bubbles — floating in the air in strong lights. Food 
was nauseating, head felt heavy as lead, life was not worth 
living, all things were odious, including actresses, after-theatre 
suppers, and like frivolities. It was a very bad bilious attack, 
voild tout ! 

This was not the only trouble. News was brought him 
from Auteuil, that an English horse he had backed heavily — 
so certain to win that the odds were on the horse — had passed 
the post a very bad third. 

‘‘ Terrible upsetting, that sea voyage, sir. Never quite safe 
with ever such a good ’oss,*’ said the little groom who hastened 
from Auteuil to inform his master of the favourite’s running. 

‘‘Why the blazes didn’t you say so before?” said Sir Am- 
brose, using a much stronger word than “blazes.” 

He dismissed the groom, and forthwith examined his pass- 
book to see if he was in a position to meet his losses. The 
examination was unsatisfactory. 


SIR AMBROSE IN SEARCH OF A WIFE. 85 

By Gad 1 what a lot of money I must have been spending 
in Paris/’ he groaned. 

He was a methodical man, and kept a petty cash-book. 
Not that ‘‘carriage and four to drive Mademoiselle Helene 
Diologent to Versailles,” or “ a supper to Mademoiselle 
Hdene Diologent,” or “a diamond and pearl pendant for 
Mademoiselle Hdene Diologent,” or “losses to Prince L60- 
ville at baccarat,” figured therein. The little item, “amuse- 
ments,” covered all this, and our friend had been amusing 
himself pretty freely. 

By the very next post came a letter from his broker. The 
Deep Down Mine, in which he was a considerable holder — 
apparently a most safe and profitable investment — had been 
inundated with water, and the shares were selling for nine- 
pence each. 

Under the influence of the fascinating H^ldne, this elderly 
person had been inclined to revel in what he called his free- 
dom (I think we may write it with a small F here), had taken 
on a jaunty air, waxed the tips of his moustaches, been almost 
frolicksome at times, and done his best to appear sufficiently 
juvenile for this position, and generally to act up to the situa- 
tion. But “when the devil was ill, the devil a saint would 
be,” and excessive bile, combined with those losses on the 
surface of the earth at Auteuil and in its bowels, by way of the 
Deep Down shaft, turned his thoughts once more towards holy 
matrimony. That Mrs. Vanderveldt’s late husband, Hiram K. 
Vanderveldt, had amassed a fortune in a dry goods’ store, and 
had doubled it by successful transactions in Wall Street, of 
course influenced him not at all. One thing he would do, 
being now virtuously inclined, he would never see H^l^ne 
(who was so expensive) any more, and, when convalescent, 
would set off on his travels in search of his guilty wife. 

July was drawing to a close. The gay little town on the 
Oosbach was quickly filling with a throng, cosmopolitan in 
character, mainly pleasure-seeking, but with a slight admix- 

8 


86 


LADY VADS ELOPEMENT, 


ture of money-making atoms — cocottes, chevaliers d’industrie, 
and book-makers, these last waiting for the Baden race meeting 
at Iffizheim. The air was full of music, song, jest, scandal, 
and pearl powder. The old ruins among the pine trees on 
the mountain sides looked grimly down on it all. 

On the balcony of the club sat a royal personage, portly, 
bearded, genial, designed some day, in all human probability, 
to rule over the world’s greatest empire. Beneath, a crowd — 
mainly of gaily attired ladies — passed slowly to and fro, cast- 
ing upward glances from bright eyes in the direction of their 
adored prince. 

‘‘ In the name of all that’s wonderful, what are those women 
doing?” exclaimed Grace Cams, who, after paying a flying 
visit to London to arrange about the publication of a book on 
Armenia, had recently returned to Baden-Baden. 

She was seated under the lime trees at a little distance from 
the Club-House, with her ‘‘Mrs. Hutchinson” and Captain 
Haulyard. 

At the prayer of poor, love-stricken Bob, who was loath to 
leave the Duchy while Prudence remained. Lady Val lingered 
at Baden somewhat longer than she had intended. But the 
course of tme love was being made very smooth for Bob and 
Prue. Grace had taken the young turtle-doves under her 
wing, and induced Captain Haulyard to arrange a journey 
with them to one of the sweetest spots in Scandinavia, at the 
head of the Nord Fjord, where all their tastes could be accom- 
modated. 

“Bob and Prue will require no looking after; Captain 
Haulyard can shoot ryper ; you can sketch and take photo- 
graphs, dear ; while I shall have an opportunity of studying 
glacier formation.” 

And so Grace settled it. 

The flitting was to be on the following day. Portmanteaus 
and other clothes-containers had been packed; Bob had 
ridden out to pay a farewell visit to an ofiicer friend stationed 
at Radstadt; and the ladies, with the gallant captain, were 


SIR AMBROSE IN SEARCH OF A WIFE. 87 

resting, after taking a farewell stroll along the beautiful Lich- 
tenthaler Alice. 

What in the name of all that is wonderful are those 
women doing asked Miss Cams, in her usual downright 
manner. 

So far as could be seen, every now and again one of the 
ladies passing near the balcony would take a hurried step to 
the right or left, and bend as if to pick up something from the 
gravel. Presently two stooped at the same moment, aiming 
apparently at an identical object. Then followed a push 
aside, which was returned, and just the suspicion of a scuffle. 
One dame walked off with an offended air, the other went 
smiling on her way. 

‘^Most remarkable ejaculated Captain Haulyard. And 
there’s another bearing up towards the club. Three times I 
have seen her pass it in the last few minutes. ’ ’ 

^‘That’s Mrs. Fitz-Brown de Snobkyns,” said Lady Val. 

You remember, Grace, there was such a fuss about her being 
presented.” 

‘‘I’ll take a cruise in that direction, if you will allow me to 
desert you, Mrs. Hutchinson,” said the captain, “and will 
come back and report. ’ ’ 

“One moment. Captain Haulyard,” said Grace. “Here’s 
Herr von Doll. He knows everything. ’ ’ 

“ Herr von Doll ” 

“ Gutenmorgen^ Fraulein P'* 

“Will you be good enough to tell us what these ladies are 
picking up under the balcony ?’ ’ 

wohl ! I have been watching zem. Zey are all 
English ladies, every one. Zee prince is eating cherries. He 
drops ze stones on to ze floor of ze balcony, and some of zem 
spring out on to ze ground, and ” 

“I won’t believe it,” cried Grace. “There is not a 
woman in England who would stoop to pick up stones because 
they had been in the prince’s mouth.” 

“But you see, my dear Fraulein, these are women out of 


88 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT. 


England ; perhaps zat makes a difference. It is a beautiful 
evidence of — what you call it ? — loyalty. But, Fraulein (and 
he concluded his remark in German, none understanding 
except Grace), may I venture to assume that these are not the 
sort of ladies who would sit in that female parliament you so 
often advocate ?’ ’ 

Spare me, Herr von Doll,’^ replied Grace in the same 
language. ‘‘ I am sufficiently humiliated.*^ 

“The king would have much influence over these ladies. 
If they value royal cherry-stones so highly, what would they 
give for a royal kiss ?* * 

Grace’s indignation at this gross libel on her adorable sex, 
as if men had no foibles, no weaknesses, was cut short by the 
sight of Bob, pale of face, hurrying towards them. 

“ I went to the hotel after you, and Ina told me you were 
out,” he said, breathlessly. “I hunted all over the Kursaal. 

He stopped confusedly, and looked at Captain Haulyard 
and the German. 

Quick-witted Grace was the first to understand the situa- 
tion. 

“Now Bob has come, we won’t keep you longer dancing 
attendance on us, Captain Haulyard. I know you and Herr 
von Doll are longing for a game of billiards. Adieu ! adieu!” 

“Now, Bob, what’s the matter?” 

“ He’s in Baden.” 

^ “Who?” 

“ Sir Ambrose. I overtook his carriage as he was driving 
from the station. ’ ’ 

“ But which hotel did he go to?” 1 

“I don’t know. I galloped on and warned Ina to keep 
watch, and if he should come to the Amalienberg Hotel not 
to let him see her, but slip out and meet us at the Trinkhalle. 
There she is in front of us.” 

While talking, they had been walking slowly through the 
gardens. 


SIR AMBROSE IN SEARCH OF A WIFE. 


89 


‘‘ Oh I call her back ^ cried Lady Val, who was trembling, 
and much agitated. ^‘Whatever shall we do, dear?’* 

‘^Discretion is the better part of valour. I think we had 
better run away as soon as possible. We must take Herr von 
Doll into our confidence,” answered Grace. 

And who was this stylishly-dressed vision ? No lady’s-maid 
at all. Who, to look at her, would have thought that the 
wavy brown hair which set off those fine violet eyes had ever 
been surmounted by the becoming badge of servitude, the 
white cap ? But it was Ina, and as pretty, but perhaps not 
looking quite so fresh and happy as when we last parted with 
her on the evening of the May day when Aunt Tabby arrived 
at Springbrook Farm. 

“I saw him come in, Grace, from our bedroom window, 
then ran downstairs, leaned over the bannisters, and heard 

him ask for Mrs. Hutchinson ” 

“ Hutchinson !” exclaimed the sisters. 

Yes ; and when he was told you was out, my lady” (Ina, 
like Mr. Williams, occasionally perpetrated a little grammati- 
cal iniquity if excited), ^^he said he would wait.” 

He didn’t ask for me ?” queried Grace. 

‘^No.” 

“ Then I don’t expect he knows I’m here.” 

“ He went into the salon,” continued Ina, ‘^and ordered a 
soda and lemon, and got so wild with the new Swiss waiter 

not understanding that ‘ soda’ meant syphon, and ’ ’ 

“We absolutely must consult Herr von Doll at once,” said 
the woman of action. “We’ll go to the back of the Kursaal 
buildings. You will find him in the billiard-room. Bob — run ! ’ ’ 
A few minutes later, a council of war was being held with 
the kind old German at the rear of the Conversationhaus. 

Many were the plans of campaign suggested and found im- 
practicable. Herr von Doll was most anxious he should call 
to their assistance his friend. Lieutenant Hoffman, who had 
been captain of the duelling corps at Heidelberg, and would 
be most pleased to pick a quarrel with Sir Ambrose and call 

8 * 


90 


LADY VADS ELOPEMENT, 


him out. That would delay the wicked baronet in Baden for 
at least a few days, and give the rest a chance of escape. 

‘^He might be delayed altogether,^’ said Lady Val, gravely. 

He’d run away. He wouldn’t fight !” said Grace, scorn- 
fully. 

Not he !” said Bob. 

‘^Ach! you are very troublesome young beoble !” ex- 
claimed Herr von Doll. The man may get tired of waiting 
and come out here and catch us all. You had better get into 
a droschke and drive out of ze town at once. Go to — to — ^ja, 
Gernsbach is the place — Hotel zum Krone.” 

I think I had better stop here and see what he does,” 
said Grace. He may want to seize Elsie’s baggage, or do 
something or other objectionable.” 

If you could only lead him wrong,” said Herr von Doll, 
^^and make him think your sister has gone some other way. 
Yes. Halt ! halt I coacher, die gnddige Frau will zum Gerns- 
bach gehen. ’ ’ 

The droschke-driver who was passing that famous Maison 
Mesmer, where the old king of Prussia, William I., used to 
lodge during the race week, halted as desired, and Bob and 
‘^Mrs. Hutchinson” were speedily despatched to Gernsbach. 

The route to the beautiful valley on the other side of the 
mountains, which is watered by the torrentuous Murg, ran 
first of all right through the centre of the town past the Ama- 
lienberg Hotel. Sir Ambrose was looking out of the win- 
dow, scowling at the peasants returning from market. For- 
tunately, a beribanded parasol, of which he only saw the top, 
sufficiently disguised his wife. At this moment of danger. 
Bob was diligently searching for something he may or may 
not have dropped in the bottom of the carriage, and he also 
was invisible. 

The brother and sister reached Gernsbach in safety. 

Having despatched his troublesome friends, Herr von Doll 
wiped his face deliberately with his handkerchief. ‘‘ I am, 


SIR AMBROSE HAS FURTHER ADVENTURES. 91 

indeed, thankful they are gone ! ' ’ he said in German to Grace. 

Ach! these consultations with ladies are terribly long and 
complicated affairs. There is so much to say. Ladies are 
almost too highly gifted with the power of language.’^ 

What am I to do ?’' asked Grace, shortly. 

I know your hotel-keeper very well. I will tell him that 
Mrs. Hutchinson and her brother have suddenly started for — 
for — the Hollenthal, by way of Freiberg, and I will take the 
luggage and pay the bill. Just a little later you can go in. 
If Sir Ambrose has discovered you were with Lady Val, tell 
him she is far away, where he cannot find her. If he does 
not know you were here with her we must be diplomatic, and 
diplomatists have no conscience, remember ! Let him think 
you are trying to find her too. You might send him on a 
little tour through the Hollenthal, for instance. But, I repeat, 
be diplomatic. Say little, and think before you speak. Adieu, 
Fraulein. Auf wieder sehen f * 


X. 

SIR AMBROSE HAS FURTHER ADVENTURES. 

Sir Ambrose Val spied Grace and Ina coming up the steps 
of the hotel. 

The devil ! She here he remarked, half aloud. 

Presently Ina entered the room, and gave a previously-in- 
structed start of surprise. 

What are you doing in Baden ?’’ he asked, roughly. 

‘‘I am companion to Miss Cams, Sir Ambrose. I’ll call 
her. She’ll be so glad to see you !” 

And Ina ran out without waiting for further converse. 

‘‘I don’t think he knows we have been here long,” she 
whispered to Grace. 

Then I’ll play the hypocrite boldly ; but mind you avoid 


92 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT. 


giving him a direct answer to any question he puts you, and, 
above all, know nothing about Lady Val.’* 

My dear Sir Ambrose, I am indeed thankful to meet you,” 
were Miss Carusos first words to her detested brother-in-law, 
as she entered the public-room in which he was sitting. 

Here was diplomacy for you, Herr von Doll ! 

‘‘Oh!” said our wicked baronet, drily, not understanding 
this greeting. “How do you do? What have you done 
with Elsie? She’s here, you know, and you needn’t deny it.” 

“ My poor sister !” exclaimed Grace, overcome. 

She hid her face in her handkerchief, and gave vent to a 
gentle sob. 

Now, you can hector your wife, but a sister in-law, particu- 
larly if she is strong-minded and has been at Girton, is differ- 
ent. Sir Ambrose did not know how to take her. 

“Well?” he said, impatiently. 

“I tracked her here, and now I’ve lost her,” said Grace, 
despondingly. “ Oh, what would I not give to get her away 
from that man ! ’ ’ 

“She’s travelling as Mrs. Hutchinson, isn’t she? What 
do you mean that you’ve lost her? She’s stopping in the 
hotel.” 

“We’ve just missed her by half an hour. Perhaps she knew 
you were coming.” 

“You don’t humbug me 1” said Sir Ambrose, roughly, and 
he pulled the bell. “ Have Mr. and Mrs. Hutchinson come 
in?” he asked. 

The waiter who entered was a new importation, and knew 
little English. The baronet was ignorant of German. That 
inconvenient Tower of Babel again ! 

“ The Herr asks if Mrs. Hutchinson is gone; say ‘Yes,’ ” 
said Grace, in German. 

“y^25,” answered the waiter. 

“ Hang you and your yars !” exclaimed Sir Ambrose, angrily. 
“Send in the proprietor.” 


S/J^ AMBROSE MAS FURTHER ADVENTURES. 93 

Again Grace translated, and the man withdrew. 

had made all inquiries,’* said she. ‘‘They left this 
afternoon for a town in the Black Forest ; but here is Herr 
Kauffman, ask him.” 

The polite little hotel-keeper, with many bows and much 
imaginary washing of hands, informed the baronet that the 
lady and the gentleman had left suddenly, and that another 
gentleman had fetched their luggage half an hour earlier. The 
portmanteaus were labelled “ Hotel de Rhine, Freiberg.” They 
were doubtless intending a tour through the Hollenthal, and 
would have left by the train departing — yes — let him think — 
just five minutes ago ! 

“I believe it’s all a plant,” said the disappointed baronet, 
after the hotel-keeper had left the room. 

Grace determined upon a display of deeply-hurt feelings. 

“You think so, do you? Do you think that I could let 
my sister be dragged down by that man without an effort to 
save her?” 

It was quite a fine piece of acting — or diplomacy. 

“How do you know it’s your sister if you haven’t seen 
her?” 

“ I — I — caught sight of her driving away from the hotel an 
hour ago, but no one here could tell me where she was going. 
I wandered about the town, hoping to meet them, then re- 
turned here, — found that their luggage had been fetched. Ah ! 
I was too late.” And Grace sighed. 

“ Well, I suppose you are going after them 1” 

“ ’M — yes — of course ; I mean to try and get her back to us 
so long as there is the least chance.” 

“Well, I am going after her, too. So I suppose we shall 
have to travel together. When’s the next train to Freiberg ?” 

Grace looked decidedly blank at this suggestion, and was 
glad to get out of the room, on plea of consulting a time- 
table, to have an opportunity of thinking over this new phase 
of affairs. No way of escaping from the decidedly unpleasant 
position into which she had drifted occurring to her, she 


94 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT, 


finally decided to let things drift. A train was leaving at six, 
arriving at Freiberg at ten. She would go by it, and take 
Sir Ambrose with her. The further he could be induced to 
travel from Gernsbach the better. If possible, Ina, who pos- 
sessed no special diplomatic gifts, must be kept out of her 
late master’s way. 

‘‘We must be at the station by six,” said Grace, re-entering 
the room. “ I shall leave Ina in Baden to telegraph to me 
in case we miss them and they return here, which is very 
likely.” 

And at six p.m., therefore, when the trumpet blew and the 
train started, Grace was in the ladies’ carriage, and Sir Am- 
brose in another compartment with a cigar, bound for Frei- 
berg, and in full chase after the runaway wife and her putative 
lover. 

While our wicked baronet and the artful diplomatiste were 
travelling Freiberg wards. Bob was nearly splitting his sides 
with laughter in the speisesaal of the Gasthaus zum Krone at 
Gernsbach, during Ina’s relation of the little comedy which 
had taken place at the Amalienberg Hotel. 

“Oh! oh! oh !” gasped Bob. “Just think of her send- 
ing him off to Freiberg, and then falling into her own trap 
and having to go with him ! Oh'! it’s really too funny ! 
Our New Woman — who’s so doosed knowing ! I wonder 
how far he’ll take her?” 

Grace had sent Lady Val a few lines written hastily in pen- 
cil on the back of an envelope : 

“ Go back to Baden, and start for Norway to-morrow. I 
will join you later on. Take Ina with you. Explain to Cap- 
tain Haulyard that I have gone for a run through the Black 
Forest with a relative who came unexpectedly. G. C.” 

“A relative who has come to Baden unexpectedly ! Oh ! 
oh ! that’s too delightful !” chuckled Bob. 


S//^ AMBROSE HAS FURTHER AD FEATURES. 95 

On arriving at Freiberg, Grace hurried to Sir Ambrose and 
begged him to see after the luggage, while she secured rooms 
and made inquiries. At the hotel she asked for the visitors’ 
book, and entered therein the words : 

Mr. and Mrs. Hutchinson. An excellent dinner.” 

Her writing for that occasion was a fai. imitation of her 
sister’s. 

(More diplomacy.) 

Sir Ambrose arrived with the luggage. 

Are they here?” was his first question. 

1 don’t know. Perhaps the visitors’ book will tell 

us.” 

(Diplomacy continued.) 

Sir Ambrose left his fair companion, investigated matters, 
and returned crestfallen. 

Hang ’em ! They’ve given us the slip again !” 

Grace was diplomatically distressed. 

Oh, surely they cannot have left the hotel?” 

You had better ask yourself. Their names’ in the visitors’ 
book, but no one knows anything about ’em. The waiter says 
a gentleman and his wife had an early dinner here, and went 
on to a place with some outlandish name. ’ ’ 

‘‘I’ll see him myself,” said Grace, and went out, leaving Sir 
Ambrose in the salon fuming and biting the ends of his mous- 
tache, a habit he had when perplexed. 

She found the waiter without difficulty. Fortune favoured 
our diplomatiste. The man knew so little English he had 
been unable to describe the birds of passage to the baronet. 
To Grace he explained in German that they were elderly, the 
lady wearing a mushroom hat and blue veil. They had hired 
a carriage to take them through the Hbllenthal, a wild and 
very beautiful piece of scenery grossly libelled by being called 
“ The Valley of Hell.” Their destination that night was an 
hotel by a Schwarz Wald lake, the Titi See. He could tell 
no more. 

Grace thought she would like to see the Hollenthal. 


96 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT. 


What had we better do?’^ she asked Sir Ambrose, as they 
supped together off blue trout. 

‘‘ Follow ’em ! hunt ’em down !” said the virtuous husband. 

‘‘We should start early, then. Order a carriage and pair for 
seven o’clock. We may overtake them.” 

The ill-matched couple so strangely drawn together rose 
early the next morning, catching the dew still glistening on 
bracken, moss, and tangle. Our diplomatiste enjoyed her 
drive through the Hollenthal very much, and graciously told 
Sir Ambrose (who paid for the carriage) the story of Moreau’s 
retreat through the pass with the army of the Sambre and 
Meuse. The wicked baronet, who like most bullies was timid, 
trembled as the carriage passed along that wonderful road cut 
in a wall of rock, sometimes tunnelling through the side of a 
precipice. The bird’s-eye view of the torrent boiling and 
surging at the bottom of the gorge was anything but comfort- 
ing to him. If one of the horses shied or bolted — that would 
be /a fitly and he was not ready for la fin. He fancied him- 
self falling through the air crash on the rocks below. Grace, 
noting his pallor, began to converse cheerfully of epitaphs. 

“There was a family,” she said, “who exhausted all their 
inventive genius in composing an epitaph for their uncle’s 
tombstone. He was good, noble, charitable, and a friend to 
the poor — had all the virtues, and so on. Two months later 
the aunt died, and was buried in the same grave. The effort 
required to avoid tautology and compose a second epitaph of 
a second model fellow-creature within nine short weeks was 
beyond the powers of the family. After many strugglings, a 
gleam of light came to one of them, and at his suggestion 
they decided on the line : 

“‘HERE ALSO LIES AUNT MARTHA, 
EQUALLY RESPECTED.’ 

“I wonder what will be put on your tombstone?” 

“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” said Sir Ambrose. 


SIR AMBROSE MAS FURTHER AD VENTURES. 97 

Why the devil don’t the driver keep his horses farther from 
the edge?” 

Death is said to be painless when it is caused by a fall 
from a height,” said Grace, consolingly. 

‘‘I must say you are not the most cheerful of travelling 
companions,” expostulated the baronet, and lapsed into 
silence. 

After passing out of the valley, the scenery was by com- 
parison uninteresting. Grace drew from her pocket a little 
volume entitled ‘‘ The Elements of Qualitative Analysis,” and 
perused it until their arrival at theTiti See. By the shores of 
this small lake, with low-wooded mountains trending to its 
margin, they found a restaurant. 

Grace inquired after the mushroom hat and blue veiL 
They were still ahead, had left for the Schluch See early in 
the day, with the intention of ascending the Feldberg, the 
highest mountain in the Black Forest. Grace felt a desire to 
ascend this mountain and spend a day or two at the little 
hotel on its summit. 

‘‘ Sunrise from the top of the mountain Himmel ! it was 
wunderschbn ’ exclaimed the restaurateur. 

Sir Ambrose recovered his good humour, or lost his excess 
of bad humour after mittagessen — lunch is an unknown word 
in the forest. That potent spirit of the cherry-stone. Sir 
Kirsch Wasser, entered into his being, and coursed through 
his veins. He began to enjoy his journey, and to cast side 
glances at his compagne-dc-voyage. She had a niceish face, he 
thought, and on the whole was decidedly chummy; and 
Elsie, though handsome, was so confoundedly cold. Had he 
chosen the wrong sister? When they again started on their 
journey he sat nearer to Grace than was needed by the width 
of the carriage. The art of the diplomatiste availed nothing 
against these tactics. The only thing was to refuse to talk, 
and study ‘‘ Qualitative Analysis.” Sir Ambrose felt inclined 
to throw the book out of the window, but feared to offend his 
companion. 

E g 


9 


98 


LADY VAL'S ELOPEMENT. 


They arrived at a little inn overlooking the deep, dark pool 
among the pine trees — the Schluch See. Here no one spoke 
English, and the house was full of Germans perfecting their 
respective kurs. Mushroom hat and blue veil were still ahead, 
on their way up the Feldberg. The chase was getting ex- 
citing. Sir Ambrose wished to push on at once, but the post- 
boys who had to return without delay to Freiberg, refused to 
fare farther. 

Grace consulted the innkeeper. There was no carriage 
available, said he. Perhaps the mayor of the village, who had 
a young horse, would take up their luggage on his cart. It 
would be moonlight. They could walk up ; many ladies did. 
And the innkeeper, with an eye to business, remarked that he 
did not think the mayor could start for at least two hours. 
Of what would the gnddige Frau partake ? 

The gnddige Frau ordered the best meal the place could 
produce. Sir Ambrose chafed at the delay, and the bill. 

They commenced to ascend the mountain about eight 
o’clock, the mayor bearing their luggage on a low, springless, 
wooden cart drawn by a young and spirited black horse. The 
forsaken husband had fortified himself by further libations of 
Kirsch, and chatted almost pleasantly as they strolled up the 
winding road through the pine forest. He unbarred his soul 
to Grace. What times he would have when he had obtained 
his divorce. Once let him get a sight of Elsie and her lover, 
and he would want no further evidence beyond a chamber- 
maid or two. He would marry the widow — at least if he did 
not marry someone else, and he edged nearer to Grace until 
their arms just touched. 

Presently he began to talk of love, in a clumsy sort of way. 
Grace kept silent. He could not see her expression, for the 
moonlight barely penetrated the pine trees which kissed over- 
head. Had he noted that look of disdain, his arm would not 
have gently crept round her waist ; he would have saved him- 
self that stinging and resounding blow, which the vigorous 
young woman, with muscles hardened by frequent use of 


SIR AMBROSE HAS FURTHER ADVENTURES, 99 

tennis-racket, gave him. It was a back-handed smack, and 
the mark of a ring she was wearing showed for many days 
after. 

(Diplomacy had given way to armed intervention.) 

Sir Ambrose swallowed an oath, remembered he was a 
Germanless individual, more or less at the mercy of Grace, 
and behaved himself with much decorum thenceforward. 

Sunrise seers of necessity retire to rest early. Though I do 
remember one merry party of youths who went up that same 
mountain, devoted a portion of the night to a jovial carouse, 
and journeyed forth to see the sun about two a. m. The sun 
would not rise for them thus early, so after narrowly escaping 
a tumble down the precipice in the dark, they returned to the 
inn, went to bed, had breakfast at ten o’clock, and descended 
the mountain. 

When Grace and Sir Ambrose arrived at the Feldberg 
Gasthaus about eleven, carousers were absent, and the rest 
were abed. A sleepy dienstmagd was with difficulty aroused, 
and made them acquainted with the unpleasant fact that all 
the beds were occupied. 

Sir Ambrose expressed a wish to break into his wife’s room 
at once, but Grace stopped him. 

There must be no scene,” she said. Everyone will be 
up before daybreak, and then you can complete your evi- 
dence.” 

The baronet sulkily acquiesced, and retired to a room with 
sanded floor, spittoons, deal tables, sloppy with spilled beer, 
and benches all around — a smelly, uncomfortable place. 
Fancy a plank bed in a beer shop for a Vice-Chairman of 
County Council, Chairman of Highway Board, Chairman of 
Quarter Sessions, Chairman of Board of Guardians, Governor 

of St. Aspath’s Hospital, Member of , and all the rest 

of it ! 

The dienstmagd^ who was a good-natured girl, gave up her 
bed to Grace ; but before retiring to rest our energetic young 
friend made inquiries, and discovered that a carriage which 


lOO 


LADY VALS ELOPEMENT, 


had brought some people up from St. Blasian, would be 
returning empty in the small hours of the morning. 

For an hour or two Sir Ambrose, who was excessively 
weary, made vain attempts to sleep on the narrow wooden 
bench which was fixed against the side of the room. In this 
he signally failed, and next tried the experiment of construct- 
ing a bed out of two beery tables. Upon this anything but 
luxurious couch he stretched himself, and for a while groaned 
and rolled uneasily. At last the sleep of exhaustion came to 
him, but he seemed no sooner to have lost himself than some- 
one flung open the door noisily, walked heavily into the 
room, and a voice made remarks in a language he did not 
understand. Sir Ambrose sat up, blinking at a tallow candle 
held by a shock-headed man dressed in trousers and flannel shirt. 

‘‘What do you want, eh? Why don’t you speak English 
instead of that rubbish ? Why — you — no— speak — Eng — lish ? 
The man’s a fool !” 

The person thus described retired, having first lit a second 
candle. Sir Ambrose looked through the window. There 
was a pale glimmer of light. 

“ Shouldn’t be surprised if that idiot didn’t want me to see 
the sun rise. Wonder where Grace is?” 

He opened the door and looked out. A tall, stout lady in 
a mushroom hat and a blue veil was coming down the uncar- 
peted stairs. A short, thin man followed humbly behind. 
Sir Ambrose addressed them in English. 

“Are you going to see the sun rise?” he asked. “If so, 
perhaps you will kindly allow me to follow you. I can’t 
understand any of the people here, and my friend who can 
has not come downstairs yet.” 

But the lady and her husband were Swedes, and understood 
him not. 

However, they went out, and he followed, deeming that if 
Lady Val and her lover were not already on the mountain 
side, they would be sure to turn out sooner or later to see the 
sight of the place. 


SIR AMBROSE HAS FURTHER ADVENTURES. loi 


There was a slight drizzle of rain, and a white cloud cloaked 
the summit of the mountain. The mushroom hat, her hus- 
band, and Sir Ambrose walked up into the cloud, sat on a 
rock, and waited for the sun to rise. 

The sun never rose. Nor did Lady Val and her lover show 
themselves. But the rain descended, and cold and very 
weary, the victim of the circumstances and diplomacy stag- 
gered back to the hotel. 

The diplomatiste, who, while our wicked baronet was 
cloud-enshrouded, had left the hotel in the comfortable closed 
carriage, reached St. Blasian in time for a refreshing cold bath 
and breakfast. About ten o’clock she chartered another car- 
riage, drove through the sweet Albthal, and caught a train at 
Albriick, which brought her to the town of the great Rhine 
falls early in the afternoon. Anxious to put a still greater 
distance between Sir Ambrose and herself, she took steamer 
from Schaff hausen up the Rhine to the German Boden See, 
better known to us as Lake Constance, and slept in the old 
town on its banks. Next morning she hied away by the 
dampschiffe — term of much amusement to unlearned young 
Englishmen — for the cruise round the lake was pleasant. She 
left the steamer at Friedrichshaffen, took train to Zurich, and 
passed a quiet, restful week on the margin of its fair waters. 
Licrliety I 

On the summit of Black Forest mountain. Tar — na — 
ti — on!” to parody the elegant ballad concerning ‘‘fair 
Zurich, ’ ’ might properly have been sung by Sir Ambrose had 
he been in a humour for singing. Deserted by his wife — at 
least, that was the way he put it — and now left in the lurch by 
her sister ! It was really too bad. He wandered about the 
hotel asking the people he met, “Where Mrs. Hutchinson, 
eh?” just as if he or they were Chinamen. But everyone 
knows it is no use talking any other than pidg’on English to 
stupid foreigners ! Above all things, bawl at them I 

9 ^ 


102 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT. 


Sir Ambrose was really in a predicament — up on this savage 
mountain, possessed of no German words, and unable even to 
ask for food. However, when the others breakfasted, he sat 
down and was mutely served. 

After breakfast, in his wanderings about the inn, he happened 
upon a letter addressed to himself in Grace’s bold handwriting. 
It was lying on a chair in one of the passages. He tore it 
open eagerly. Perhaps it would give a cue to the peculiarly 
unpleasant position in which he found himself placed. Alas ! 
it contained but cold comfort. 

Dear Sir Ambrose, — After your behaviour yesterday 
evening I cannot journey farther with you. You can save 
yourself needless trouble in respect of my sister. She is miles 
away from you, and with our brother Robert. As I think you 
are better apart, I have taken the opportunity you were good 
enough to afford me, to travel through a part of the forest I 
had long wished to see. As a matter of fact, we have been 
chasing a phantom Mrs. Hutchinson. 

I really think it a pity you are unable to obtain a divorce, 
but you cannot very well make Bob a co-respondent. I will 
get Elsie to see if she can’t obtain a little evidence against you, 
and so regain her freedom. She is blameless. 

I am afraid you will not be very cheerful on the top of the 
mountain, but possibly you may find congenial society in the 
person of a lady with a mushroom hat and blue veil. 

G. C.” 


Tableaux. 


TURQUOISE FORTUNE, 


103 


XL 

TURQUOISE FORTUNE. 

One summer’s night, some weeks previous to Sir Ambrose 
Val’s descent on Baden-Baden, the moonlight was streaming 
in through the window of Mr. Goodenough’s study, on to the 
worthy man himself and little Gwendoline who shared with 
him the roomy arm-chair. The child lay on his lap, her head 
resting on his shoulder. A leafy frame, due to an old but 
well-trained Marie Louise pear tree, fringed the window, the 
leaves and twigs telling out black against the clear, moonlit 
sky. At his master’s feet, with head resting on his boot, lay 
the brown-eyed collie. Laddie, giving convulsive fits, starts, 
and strange noises, as he dreamt of his pet aversion, the ginger 
cat at Hillside Farm. 

In the old walled garden beneath the window, the warm 
night zephyrs gently waved to and fro the drooping roses still 
faint with the heat of a July day. The perfume from the mass 
of old-time flowers, rarely seen in modern gardens, scented 
the air and penetrated even to the study. In an elm-tree 
which overshadowed the house a nightingale was uttering 
sweet notes. 

There had been a long silence. Gwen was drowsy, her bed: 
time was at hand. Mr. Goodenough was meditative. 

‘‘What a lot of sunlight there is in the moon to-night!’’ 
said the child, sitting up on her father’s knee and rubbing the 
round blue-grey eyes which by day sparkled like jewels in her 
bright oval face tinted with the roses of health and innocent 
youth. 

“ Out of the mouths of babes and suckliugs,” murmured the 
Independent Gentleman, half aloud. 

“ Out of what, papa?” 

“ Nothing, dear. But your remark was wondrous wise. It 
is sunlight coming down upon us. The sun shines on the 


104 


ZAJDV VAVS ELOPEMENT, 


moon, brightens it up, and the reflection lights up the 
world. 

ah!*' 

Gwen stifled a little yawn. The simplest astronomy has 
few charms for us at the age of eight. She infinitely preferred 
climbing trees in the orchard. 

‘‘ Bye-bye time, dear. Off you go. Good- night, my dar- 
ling, good-night.” 

He kissed the child lovingly. 

After his little daughter had left him, Mr. Goodenough lit 
his lamp. Its soft yellow light disclosed a small square room 
with high, peaked roof, two old oak beams crossing it, on one 
a rifle, on another a gun. The walls were almost covered with 
well- filled book- cases of black oak quaintly carved, the few 
intervening spaces being devoted to golf-clubs, racks holding 
fishing-rods, cases of insects, stuffed birds and fish, and photo- 
graphs of Gwendoline at various ages. Certain nooks and 
corners were given up to strangely shaped wooden boxes con- 
taining philosophical instruments. Scattered about were pieces 
of photographic apparatus, fishing-creels, books, and papers. 
With these latter, two small tables were littered, and even the 
chairs had their burdens. It was the room, of a leisured man 
of active mind and many occupations. 

Mr. Goodenough eyed the writing-table doubtfully. It bore 
a series of little packets of papers, each duly docketed. There 
were Correspondence with the Charity Commissioners and 
Attorney-General Concerning Village Hall,” ‘‘Letters re 
Exchange of Recreation Ground with Lord of Manor,” “ Par- 
ticulars of John Burnock’s Case,” “List of Persons who 
Appear to have Suffered in Consequence of Voting Contrary 
to Wish of Farmers,” “ Scheme to Provide Better Cottages in 
Village,” “Allotments,” “Complaint to Local Government 
Board of Sanitary Inspector,” “Attempt to Boycott,” “Let- 
ters re Wells Polluted by Farmyard Refuse,” “Letters re 
Outbreak of Typhoid,” and so forth. 

Mr. Goodenough sighed. Which subject should he tackle 


TURQUOISE FORTUNE. 


105 

first ? In his impetuous fashion he had attacked a whole army 
of abuses at once, and the correspondence was burdensome. 
Fate settled the question for that evening, for a gentle tap 
came at the door. 

^^Mr. Kingley has called to see you, sir,^^ said one of the 
rosy- cheeked maids. 

‘‘Ask him up here.” 

Laddie, waking suddenly, uttered a short bark as Gerald 
entered. Then humbly apologised for the mistake by stretch- 
ing out his forelegs and incurving his back. Surely this com- 
mon form of greeting by dogs to mortals is a movement of 
respect or homage. 

Gerald grasped Mr. Goodenough by the hand. His eyes 
sparkled, his face was a little flushed. His bearing evinced 
considerable excitement. 

“ I have come to you first of all,” he said. 

“ What ! not seen Ina yet?” 

“No, I want your advice.” 

“ Advice is cheap.” 

“ Yours is good.” 

“It is always freely yours ” 

“Thanks. Now, what would you think of my being a 
millionaire?” 

“I should think nothing but good of it. But has the 
Australian legacy turned up trumps ?’ ' 

Mr. Goodenough took the matter coolly. It was difficult 
to accept the suggestion quite seriously and literally. 

“I had this letter at midday,” said Gerald, his hands 
trembling slightly, as he picked one out from a bundle he 
drew from his pocket. “ It seems they sent a second telegram 
which I did not receive.” 

The letter was from the firm of solicitors in Melbourne who 
first informed the legatee of his uncle’s death. It was a 
lengthy, closely-written document. Mr. Goodenough sat down 
to read it. Word by word he studied the letter from com- 
mencement to finish, pondered a few seconds, then rose, 


io6 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT. 


took Gerald by the hand, and looked him steadily in the 
face. 

^^It is evident,’^ he said, ‘‘that a wondrous fortune has 
fallen to your lot. It will be a blessing or a curse to you and 
others as you make use of it. You will be — nay, you are — 
more than a rich man — perhaps a millionaire twice over. I 
had read of the turquoise discoveries in Australia. ’ * 

“You had 

“Yes; but little thought they were on your uncle's farm. 
Every fresh report tells of better yields. As the shafts go 
lower, the stones improve in quality. Near the surface they 
are affected by atmospheric influences and drainage. But 
already you have such a fortune as falls to few." 

“What am I to do with it all? The question seems to 
weigh me down." 

Mr. Goodenough pondered a moment before replying. 

“If I mistake you not," he said, at length, “you have no 
expensive tastes, but would like to reform the world. It's a 
large order. Why not begin in a small way ? One would 
need to be five times a millionaire to do much in London 
alone." 

“ Couldn’t I do something for Revelsbury ?" 

“ Nothing easier. Buy it and do what you like with it." 

“But it’s not in the market?" 

“Yes, it is. Sir Ambrose must be out at elbows, for I hear 
he’s trying to sell it privately." 

“ But have I enough money ?" 

Mr. Goodenough laughed. 

“ My dear boy, in the words of the Irishman, you have 
more money than two horses couldn’t haul up-hill ! Why ! 
you have a letter of credit for two hundred thousand on 
Childs, a million or two in Australia, and a turquoise mine of 
your own, perhaps as valuable as the Persian mine of Khoras- 
san. Oh, yes. I think you can manage to buy up a little 
twopenny halfpenny village 1" 

“Well, I’ll try," said Gerald, laughing. 


TURQUOISE FORTUNE. 


107 


If you do, for goodness’ sake get Mr. Lias another living. 
He’s a good man, gives a small fortune to the villagers; but 
oh, dear ! that Eton training of his ! He would make an ex- 
cellent vicar in a fashionable watering-place ; and really that 
stylishly-dressed, handsome wife of his and pretty daughters 
are quite lost in this dull place. Now, if we only had a man 
like O’Toole.” 

I never knew him.” 

^^No! He was a first-rate fellow of broad views. He 
placed himself on even terms with the poor, abounded in 
strong common sense, and had such a fund of humour. He 
told me — it was after dinner — that the late Charles Bradlaugh 
having caught a very fine Thames trout on Sunday was the 
only fact that had ever shaken his faith in a Divine Being !” 

once heard,” said Gerald, ‘‘Bradlaugh played a big 
fish a long time and then lost him. He was asked whether 
he didn’t swear when the hook broke away. He said it 
might be a serious thing for him to make such an admis- 
sion, but he was willing to confess that he affirmed a good 
deal.” 

“Poor fellow I overwork for an ungrateful crowd killed him 
long before his time, and now he is almost as forgotten as last 
year’s lilies. If he had only owned your fortune ! — But, my 
dear boy, what are we dreaming of? Off with you to your 
sweetheart. There’s a commencement of well-doing with 
your riches for you — save the farm for Springbrook. I never 
saw a man more heart-broken. Let’s see ; it’s just ten. You 
may find them up.” 

“ Then you think it really is true?” 

“ Have you been to Childs?” 

“Yes.” 

“And you drew out ” 

“Ten pounds.” 

“That’s a modest draft for a millionaire !” said Mr. Good- 
enough, leaning back in his chair and laughing heartily. “You 
showed them your letter of credit?” 


io8 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT. 


‘‘Yes, and it seemed all right.’' 

“ Then it is all right. But your draft of ten pounds — why, 
you are as careful as Laddie here.” 

“ Laddie !” said Gerald, somewhat puzzled by the compar- 
ison. 

“Yes, but I forgot; you have not heard of his latest feat. 
You know how he’ll take a penny to the baker’s for a biscuit ? 
Well, some young fellows camping out by the river made 
friends with him. I told them of his tricks, and they were 
so liberal to the dog that he had more biscuits than he 
could eat, and began to bury them under the Portugal laurel 
by the pump.” 

“Very clever of him,” said Gerald, who was fidgeting to 
be off to Ina. “ Good-night.” 

“ Stop a minute ! The cream of the story is to come. When 
Laddie came to dig up his biscuits he found them mouldy. 
What do you think he did then ?’ ’ 

“ Tried another storehouse?” 

“No,” said Mr. Goodenough, triumphantly. “He began 
to bury the pennies as they were given him, and now when he 
feels inclined for a biscuit he scratches up a coin and goes to 
the shop with it.” 

“ Heavens ! what a dog !” exclaimed Gerald. 

“Yes, he is almost human. But don’t, for goodness’ sake, 
bury your money, my dear millionaire. Do something for 
England with it. Show how the people can be kept on the 
land, and the land brought into cultivation.” 

“ No money can do that, I fear,” said Gerald. 

“ It can. At least the attempt might be made here, and if 
a success (I have worked the whole thing out), you shall go 
into Parliament and advocate the scheme. But now be off 
with you to Ina. It’s scandalous my keeping you. Come 
and see me to-morrow. You may want a little help about 
your business affairs. You should find out if your mine is 
in good honest hands. Good-night, my dear fellow, good- 
night.” 


TURQUOISE FORTUNE, 


109 


Aunt Tabby, garbed in the historic dressing-gown, was roll- 
ing up the last strand of hair by means of her forefingers — it 
is almost a lost art nowadays — preparatory to nipping up the 
resulting curl tightly, and encasing it in a whisp of curl-paper. 
She was in the lofty panelled guest-chamber of Springbrook 
farm-house. The principal article of furniture was a huge four- 
poster, the heavy canopy of which was supported by curiously 
twisted wooden columns. The bed dated from the times of 
Charles the First, and in it generations of Springbrooks had 
breathed their first breath, and later on shed this mortal coil. 
Since the death of Ina’s mother, it had been devoted to the 
visitors who came to the farm-house. These, let it be hoped, 
were people of strong mind, for this ancient piece of furniture 
was full of ghostly inspirations. 

A gentle tap on the door, and Ina entered. 

saw your light, aunt, dear, so came in. Oh, such 

news 

The moonlight was so beautiful, I sat looking out into the 
garden for a long time, and when I lit my candle it was quite 
late. I thought I heard someone downstairs. Did he bring 
the news ?’ ' said the old lady. 

Yes, it’s Gerald !” cried Ina, excitedly. What do you 
think, aunt, he’s a millionaire, got ever so much money; 
enough to buy all the village if he likes, and I think he’s 
going to ! He’s going to get the farm for father, and provide 
for you and his uncle. I don’t know what he isn’t going to 
do,” and Ina seated herself in an old-fashioned arm-chair by 
the side of the dressing-table, before which Aunt Tabby had 
been laying the foundations of to-morrow’s ringlets. She 
thought the old lady received the startling information very 
calmly. 

Is it his uncle’s property in Australia that’s so large?” 
asked Aunt Tabby. 

^‘Yes, aunt, there’s a mine on it — a mine of turquoises. 
Think of that ! It’s worth ever so many thousands of pounds.” 

So you will be a grand lady, my dear, with mansions, 
10 


no 


LADY VALS ELOPEMENT. 


horses, carriages, and jewels — a greater lady even than Lady 
Val/* 

The girl was so wrapped up in her lover’s good fortune that 
no thought had come of her own share in it. For a full 
minute she said nothing, and Aunt Tabby, who was watching 
her, saw the bright, glad look die away from her face. 

“ I can never be a great lady,” she said at last, slowly and 
sadly. ‘‘A poor farmer’s daughter, and a servant. Gerald 
must look higher. People who are very rich mix with the 
highest.” 

‘‘You little stupid!” said Aunt Tabby, smiling at her. 
“Why! Gerald might search England from one end to 
another and not find a sweeter or brighter little wife than 
yourself. ’ ’ 

“I know he loves me very much, aunt; but suppose we 
married, and afterwards, when he came to mix with the 
great people like those what used to come to Lady Val’s, he 
saw some beautiful, clever woman, and then found he had 
made a mistake. It would be dreadful to part from him, in- 
deed ; but anything would be better than that. Just think of 
us having to live together all those years, and he trying to be 
just the same to me, for he would try to hide it, and both of 
us knowing all the time— that ” 

“ — His little sweetheart is talking nonsense. I have 
known Gerald far longer than you, my dear. He is as staunch 
and true as any man living.” 

“ But, aunt, you only knew him as a poor man ; now he’s 
so rich it will be very different.” 

“ Not a bit, my dear ! Gerald will always be the same, rich 
or poor. ’ ’ 

But Ina was not to be convinced. The more she thought 
the thing over, the more certain she felt that she was unfit to 
be the wife of a millionaire, and the poor girl went to bed, 
and lay for hours crying over this good fortune which had 
come to her lover. 

Her erstwhile intended husband lay awake also, with head 


THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 


in 


full of many schemes, in most of which Ina had her part — 
Ina, the Lady Bountiful of the village — a new village where 
freedom, peace, contentment, and prosperity for ever reigned ; 
Ina, the Good Fairy of those squalid slums in London ; Ina, 
the benefactress of the poor. Of himself he thought but little, 
except as a helpmeet for Ina. He hardly regarded himself as 
the proprietor of the funds for these good works. The money 
had been his uncle’s ; it was now his to spend. He had not 
earned it, and according to the almost socialistic principles in 
which he believed, he had no right to it. His tastes were 
simple and inexpensive. He had few ambitions — none of 
those common to rich men, except, perhaps, to get into Par- 
liament, an idea Mr. Goodenough put into his head that even- 
ing. He would have liked to achieve success in literature, 
but that now seemed almost out of the question, for the man- 
agement of this huge fortune would fully occupy him. 

The crowning point of it all was that Ina would share in 
the works which he intended to carry out, and he saw his love 
and himself going through a long life side by side, happiness 
following in their footsteps. This young man was a born 
philanthropist. He fell asleep, and his dreams were full of 
visions of Ina, and turquoises, and happy faces. 

The awakening was to come on the morrow. 


XIL 

THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 

Dame Freedom was absent from Revelsbury ; but was Cupid 
to be driven out ? — Cupid, who, since his arrival in the befogged 
Mayfair portico, had constantly attended on Ina and Gerald. 
We may imagine the blind god on that night of great news, 
hovering anxiously over Ina as she tossed restlessly from side 
to side of the little spotless bed in the pretty room overlooking 
the orchard. We can imagine him planting dart after dart — 


II2 


LADY VAUS ELOPEMENT, 


^‘Gerald” written on the shafts — into her warm, pulsating 
heart. 

But the stronger the love of this sweet, innocent maid, the 
more fixed her determination that the new millionaire should 
not mate a wife who would, so she imagined, compare unfa- 
vourably with the grand ladies of the circles in which he was 
destined to shine. 

Poor simple child !” remarked the Independent Gentle- 
man when he heard about it. She has yet to learn that 
beauty in woman, like wealth in man, is a great leveller, 
though money is the more potent force of the two in that di- 
rection, inasmuch as it endures while beauty is evanescent and 
after all of no great avail among women themselves ; ’ ^ a re- 
mark which was a little too deep for Joseph Springbrook, to 
whom it was made. 

About three o’clock Ina fell asleep from pure exhaustion. 
Her long eyelashes were not raised off the smooth round 
cheeks until the sun was high in the heavens, and the night 
mists on the broad meadows by the river had been dispersed. 
Gerald was under her window calling to her, and two turtle- 
doves taken from the nest by Joe, which she had tamed, were 
tapping on the diamond panes to remind her of their belated 
breakfast. Little did she think as she admitted them into her 
chamber, and favoured her lover with a smile — not so bright 
a one though as usual — that her decision arrived at during 
that long, wakeful night, would bring upon him one of the 
greatest dangers of his life. 

‘‘They’ve all had breakfast,” called out Gerald, cheerily, 
“but I waited for you. Let’s take ours to the Bower. I feel 
that I can’t stop indoors this morning.” 

Ina nodded assent, looking over a little muslin blind which 
crossed the lower half of the lattice and hid from the outside 
world the simple mysteries of the maiden’s night toilet. 
Then the white-clad little figure disrobed, stepped into the 
bath placed ready by the faithful Bridget, and holding one 
arm aloft in graceful attitude — a veritable nymph — poured 


THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE, 


113 

sparkling water adown her lithe body, and soon, under the 
friction of a rough towel, did roses come back to those smooth 
cheeks and light to the sad eyes. 

But it was an unusually demure and quiet little Ina who 
presently appeared in the old door-way of the farm-house — 
a picture framed in oak. A tear or two which had fallen 
before she left her room had wetted the long eye-lashes, and 
brought them into little points instead of the usual long, 
sweeping fringe. Gerald noticed, and thinking them tears of 
joy, kissed them away, or tried to, and commented nothing. 

The lovers’ morning greeting over, Ina brought new milk 
and cups, and certain Scotch three-cornered cakes, whereof 
the recipe had been handed down by poor Christina. And 
there was Springbrook Farm butter from out the cool dairy, 
and Springbrook Farm wheaten bread, sweet and nutty, with 
a liberal allowance of golden-brown kissing crust. 

With the simple but delicious fare in a basket, and kisses to 
give zest in prospect, the pair strolled along a by-path, passing 
the backs of the cottage gardens, to the ferry, just below the 
splashing weir ; for the Bower lay on the other side of the 
river, a quarter of a mile distant from Revelsbury. 

Tids, the ferryman, whose cottage, covered with climbing- 
roses, was on the opposite bank, long delayed answering the 
summons of the old hand-bell, which, like the bibles of 
former days, was chained to a post, and protected from the 
weather by a rustic wooden canopy. Presently he appeared, 
ruddy of hair and burly, and slowly rowed across the river in 
the punt of greenish-blue. Artists who love tumble-down 
thatched cottages and decaying craft, provided they neither 
live in the one nor go to sea in the other, looked upon the old 
punt as a thing of great beauty, and one and all declared it 
would be a sin to redecorate it, the worn-out and faded paint 
being such a truly lovely colour.” 

I was taking a few of the old bristles off,” explained Tids. 
began ’arf an hour agone, but a lot of young gents on 
them electro-plated wobblers with rheumatic tires kept coming 
h 10* 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT, 


I14 

across. My old chin knife was that there blunt, and as for 
the carpenter’s whetstone, it ain’t no manner of — thank you, 
sir!” [Aside: ‘‘Good Lor’ ! it’s a bob! The gent must 
ha’ come into a fortin !”] 

The Bower, discovered and named by our lovers twain, was 
a leafy dell overlooking a quiet back-water where few boats 
penetrated. A greensward, enclosed on all sides but one with 
tall hazel bushes and gnarled oaks, trended to the water’s 
edge, where it was fringed with tall sedges, the haunt of 
many moor-hens and dabchicks. The lovely pool on which 
floated the delicately scented white and yellow water-lilies 
with their large, flat leaves, was hidden from the main stream 
by a small island adorned with graceful silver birches, aspens, 
and a few ancient pollarded willows. Just on the fringe of 
the hazel copse was a fallen oak tree, smitten by last winter’s 
great gale. One portion of the trunk formed a perfect seat for 
a pair of lovers, a curved limb serving as a sufficiently comfort- 
able back. 

“Now, I really must,” said Gerald, as they reached the 
prone oak. 

“No, breakfast I” cried Ina. 

“Just one first.” 

“Well then, just one — I said one, that isn’t fair — there 1 — 
you’ve had three, that’s too bad. Come and help me spread 
the little cloth on this big bough — pull your end a little. 
Now, the scones here, the butter there ; the cups must go on 
the ground.” 

The poor child tried to carry it off with an air of gaiety, and 
all the time she was near weeping. Gerald, ignorant of the blow 
in store for him, fingered a little jewel-case which lay snugly in 
his pocket, and was to be opened immediately after breakfast. 

The sense of being the owner of one or more millions did 
not take away our fortunate young friend’s appetite, though 
there was certainly a slight check to his repast when his hand 
accidentally touched Ina’s, as they both sought butter at the 
same moment. 


THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE, 


115 


Ina ate next to nothing. As she tended her lover's wants, 
she was thinking in what words to tell him of her momentous 
decision. But Fate always shapes these things for us. 

Now," said Gerald, taking a final draught of new milk, 
^^see what I have brought you, my darling." 

It was a gold ring bearing three large turquoises, each of 
the blue stones surrounded by sparkling little diamonds. It 
had cost exactly the ten pounds, that modest first draft on the 
millionaire’s fortune. 

Ina’s fair face flushed as she looked at his gift, but she 
suddenly flung her arms around her lover’s neck, and burst 
into tears. 

Fancy ! crying because I bring you a stupid ring ! Well, 
you are a silly little goose ! There — let me kiss the tears 
away — not one left, I declare. Now, please, a pretty smile !’’ 

But Ina’s smiles were wanting. 

I mustn’t take the ring,’’ she sobbed. I don’t know 
what you’ll think of me, I ’’ and she stopped dead. 

‘‘Ina! you haven’t been playing with me? You haven’t 
deceived me?’’ 

“ No ! no ! no ! not that; but I mustn’t marry you." 

“ Not marry me 1" 

He was amazed. 

“No, I mustn’t — I really mustn’t." 

“But why? Tell me why, Ina dear?" 

The girl was a little more composed now. She had slipped 
off the trunk of the old tree to the grass in her outburst of 
sorrow, and now kneeling before him, took his hands between 
hers. 

“It’s because of the fortune," she said, piteously. “Oh, 
my darling, I’m not fit to be a grand lady, and the wife of a 
rich man, and you will be somebody very grand, indeed." 

Gerald laughed aloud. The thing was such a trifle after all. 

“ Is that it ?’’ he said. “ Why, I never mean to be a grand 
gentleman, but to spend nearly all this money in doing a lot 
of things I want to see done — things that want doing — good 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT. 


1 16 

things, great things ; and my little wife will help me in the 
spending of it all/’ 

^‘Gerald dear, I know you’ll use your fortune well, but 
when I was at Lady Val’s I saw many rich people, and one 
was enormously rich like you, and he gave thousands away, 
and spent thousands on good works like you will, but that 
made him more thought of than ever, and he was knighted. ’ ’ 
promise you I won’t be knighted.” 

Why shouldn’t you be, dear? It’s a mark of honour.” 

Only sometimes — very sometimes. A man did a shabby 
action the other day which benefited his party, and he was 
made a baronet. ’ ’ 

Oh, a baronet’s different. I was talking about knights.” 

Yes, but it’s all rubbish, my pet. We are to be married, 
and soon, too. ’ ’ 

^^No.” 

It was an emphatic, yet kind, and yet sad, no.” 

But you haven’t given me any good reason. Do you love 
me?” he urged. 

Better than all the world !” 

And you won’t marry me because of this fortune?” 

‘‘ Because I’m not fit to be your wife now. Only the other 
day I was a servant, and ’ ’ 

Rubbish ! Rubbish ! Rub-bish ! You were Lady Val’s 
maid for a little while, and very sorry I am that you were. 
You are as refined as any woman I ever met, and as for family 
— why. Sir Ambrose Val’s is a mushroom to it ! You surely 
wouldn’t like to see me marry someone else?” 

“No! no! — yes — of course, you must marry — but — oh, 
Gerald, don’t be unkind. Don’t you see I want to do right 
by you, and you are making it so hard for me.” 

“My darling,” said he, lifting her up and placing her by 
his side, with her head on his breast, “I’ll give up this 
wretched fortune. We shall be far happier without it. I 
never wanted it, and here at the very beginning it’s bringing 
trouble upon us.” 


THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE, 


117 

Give — up — the — fortune — for — me !” She spoke slowly, 
drew back her head, and gazed at him with the expression of 
one who sees a vision of heaven. You would give up the 
fortune for me She repeated the words as if to herself. 

Let us go home, dear,” she went on presently, talking in 
the low tone of one deep in thought. I cannot understand 
all this — this great love ; it seems to overwhelm me. Let me 
go home and think. You must not throw away a fortune for 
a foolish girl’s whim. Give me a little time, dear. Don’t 
let’s talk any more about it now.” 

And so they went home, she suddenly subdued and humble, 
eyeing her lover almost with reverence. The immensity of 
the sacrifice he was willing to make for her, a sacrifice not so 
much of money as of hopes and aspirations which he cher- 
ished, appealed to her, as it would appeal to any good 
woman, more than the strongest protestation of affection. 
What was she to do ? More than ever was she determined to 
avoid the risk of injuring such a man in the slightest degree. 
Yet, if she refused him, he threatened to give up the fortune, 
and her lover was not one to threaten vainly. 

Gerald left her in the afternoon, still without an answer. 
She pleaded for time ; she would write. One thing slightly 
consoled him, she accepted the ring. 

‘‘Whether we marry or not,” she said, sadly, “I shall 
have this to remember you by. I will wear it night and day ; 
it shall never be away from me, and I will cherish it like my 
love for you. ’ ’ 

In the evening, after their visitor had retired to rest in the 
bed of four posts, Ina laid her trouble before her father, who 
reasoned with her much as Aunt Tabby had done. Gerald 
was true as steel, he thought, but admitted the possibility of 
Ina being too much the simple country girl to be a satisfactory 
wife for the owner of untold wealth. 

“We read of such things in old ballads, ’ ’ he said ; ‘ ‘ but i t isn’ t 
often seen in real life. It’s generally the rich Mr. A. marries 
poor Lady B., or the rich Miss C. is married to poor Lord D.” 


ii8 


LADY VADS ELOPEMENT. 


The maiden sighed. Why was she not Lady Ina Spring- 
brook. Oh! unkind fate 

^‘But I am afraid,” continued the worthy farmer, “that 
you may be wrecking both his happiness and yours. It’s hard 
to know what to do for the best. I think I’ll sleep on it; 
you go to bed, my dear. ’ ’ 

However, before sleeping on it, Joseph Springbrook put on 
his hat and strolled up the village street to see Mr. Good- 
enough, who rarely retired before a late hour. The farmer 
shared the general opinion of the village as to the worth of 
the Independent Gentleman’s advice. 

Mr. Goodenough was at work on a huge volume relating to 
those Poor Laws, the chief peculiarities of which are, as he 
pointed out, that irresponsible guardians may do almost any- 
thing, and shall do practically nothing. 

“I’ve come to ask your advice,” began Springbrook. 

“Stop!” cried Mr. Goodenough. “Sit down there. 
Now, here’s a cigar. A light? Where’s that girl stowed 
away my matches ? Confound her ! I never can keep a box 

of Ah ! here they are abaft the ink-pot. How do you 

like your grog? But you’d better mix it yourself. Ah — now 
we’re comfortable. Do you know, it’s impossible to give 
really good advice or properly consider any important ques- 
tion without tobacco and an easy-chair?” 

“ Oh,” said Joseph, which was all he could think of. 

“Well?” This from the Independent Gentleman. 

“It’s about Ina.” 

Mr. Goodenough was all attention. He had anticipated 
the Agricultural Holdings Act, a subject of absorbing interest 
to agriculturists and their landlords, but full of terrors for the 
rest of humanity. 

Joseph Springbrook told his story. Mr. Goodenough pon- 
dered awhile thereon. 

“Wealth does ruin men,” he said at last. “I mean,” he 
added, smiling at the paradox, “ that it ruins their characters. 
Now, I am prepared to stake my faith on young Kingley. I 


THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 


I19 

believe there is no finer, more downright and honest young 
fellow in England. And yet almost every man I have known 
who came into money suddenly, or slowly for the matter of 
that, was the worse for it. In their poverty they perhaps were 
liberal and humble-minded. As soon as fortune smiled they 
grew niggard and proud. Strange, isn’t it?” 

“ There are lots of rich men about here,” said the farmer, 
^‘who never have a penny to spare, so they say. Their ex- 
penses are so heavy. ’ ’ 

Exactly. Why don’t the fools cut down some of their 
expenses and have a little spare cash? But, to come back to 
Ina.” 

‘^Yes?” 

We can’t guarantee what young Kingley will be like after 
he has felt his feet as a millionaire, can we ?” 

No, not very well.” 

But I believe in him, mind ; only I know the way of the 
world.” 

I believe in him, too.” 

Certainly. But what we have to see is, that Ina runs no 
risk of making a match which might turn out an unhappy one 
— which she or her husband might afterwards regret ; and it’s 
also very clear to me that if she does not marry him, she, and 
perhaps he, may regret it as long as they live. ’ ’ 

I’m afraid so.” 

Very well, then. Here’s my advice (no one ever takes 
it, but that doesn’t matter). Let Ina put off any idea of 
marriage, or even an engagement, for twelve months or so. 
If Gerald is of the same mind after the evil influences of 
wealth have had an opportunity of working on him, then she 
may safely marry him. I have not much doubt about the end 
of it all myself, but the little period of probation can do no 
harm.” 

There is another thing,” said the farmer. ^^Ina feels, 
and I can’t help feeling it myself, that she has hardly had the 
education to fit her for the wife of a very rich man. Of 


120 


LADY VADS ELOPEMENT. 


course, she’s not had the advantages some girls have. 
I ” 

‘‘ Don’t trouble your head about that. She will make him 
an excellent wife, none better. Women have a wonderful way 
of adapting themselves to their surroundings. I had a friend 
once who fell in love with one of the flower-girls in Oxford 
Circus — honestly, deeply in love. He sent her to school in 
Brussels for a year, then married her. She made him the best 
of wives, and her manners, after the first six months, were 
irreproachable. ’ ’ 

‘^But you would not send Ina to Brussels.” 

^^Not I. I don’t mean to draw comparison between her 
and a London flower-girl. My dear Springbrook, your daugh- 
ter, in my eyes, approaches closely to perfection. As to this 
matter you are consulting me about, there is only one point — 
will Kingley with all his wealth feel that he might have made 
a better match ? He will probably feel nothing of the kind, 
but to be on the safe side, to meet Ina’s scruples, delay the 
match for a year — that’s all.” 

Springbrook thought the idea a good one. 

‘^It will give our young friend time to get his affairs in 
order,” continued the Independent Gentleman, ‘^and if Ina 
thinks it is her duty in the interval to learn Italian, the use of 
the globes, musical glasses, or the jew’s-harp, well, she will 
have the opportunity. Let me fill your glass. No ? Another 
cigar? No? Well, good-night, if you must go. Mind and 
come to the Parish Meeting on Tuesday ; some of the farmers 
actually mean to support Woodnut in his encroachment by 
the side of the Ferry Road.” 

And so it came about that on the day following Ina wrote 
this beautiful letter to Gerald — a letter which it seems almost 
sacrilege to make known to the world : 

My Own Dear Love, — If at the end of a year you will 
have me, I will be your loving wife. Until then I want you 


THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 


I2I 


to feel quite free. I did think that I ought not to marry you 
at all, but my father has shown me my mistake. But he says 
that you must see how you feel when you have had all this 
money some time. Perhaps you will travel and meet other 
women, and you will find out if you think me best of them 
all. None of them can love you better than I do, dear, but 
many would make a better wife for such a wealthy man as 
you. I think I will go to Miss Cams, who is in London 
again, and seems anxious for me to travel with her. It may 
be good for me to know a little of the world, and I will try 
and learn the ways of the great ladies I see, so that if I ever 
become your wife, dear, I shall not disgrace you. Please 
don’t be unhappy at what I have decided. It is only a year, 
and if you would give up a fortune for me now, I know you 
would keep true to me for twelve short months. How I shall 
treasure that beautiful ring you gave me. I sleep with it 
against my face every night. Come down and spend all the 
time you can with me before I go, my dear darling. The 
year need not begin just yet, need it ? But even when it does, 
I don’t see why we should not see each other now and then. 
You can be free just the same. Good-night, my dear, sweet 
love. From your ever faithful, loving sweetheart, Ina. 

P.S. — I do so want to see you again soon. Good-night, 
my darling. Heaps of kisses.” 

And the letter concluded with several rows of crosses. 


F 


II 


122 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT, 


XIIL 

A RED NOTE. 

Bewilderment is the certain result or reflection on the 
vast number of varying incidents which occur at one and the 
same instant in this little world of ours. Men and women 
are dying ; babes are commencing life ; crimes are being per- 
petrated ; fortunes and reputations are being made or lost. 
Some are suffering, others enjoying; a roar of traffic rises 
from the great cities ; lovers are cooing — even billing ; blas- 
phemers are cursing ; ships are battling against storm ; trains 
by the thousand, impelled by the steam demon, are careering 
over the earth ; hearts are being broken ; machinery is pul- 
sating, grinding, smashing, wearing, tearing, raging. Hope, 
sorrow, love, hate, joy, misery, greed, patriotism, honour, 
shame, freedom, and slavery — all these notes and many more 
are being played on fiercely, or tenderly, or in humdrum 
fashion. 

To figure in imagination the world’s events of a moment is 
brain-reeling work. Suffice it to deal with certain events, 
which by a strange coincidence are commencing just as Ger- 
ald, sitting in his uncle’s bookshop, is perusing the sweet let- 
ter from his mistress set forth in the preceding chapter. It 
arrives at night, for Ina rose at daybreak to write it, the faith- 
ful Hodge, mounted on the grey mare, bearing it to the 
nearest market-town in time for the morning mail. 

Imagine a caf6 lit by many gas-jets in soft opal globes. 
Small, round marble-topped tables, bent-wood chairs, and 
spittoons, furnish the floor. At each table a duet or trio of 
men, mainly foreigners, are seated, drinking absinthe, lager, 
or the milder mixture of fruit syrup and syphon. Some are 
playing dominoes, others chess. Not a few are talking 
eagerly. Set in panels round the room are looking-glasses, 


A RED NOTE, 


123 


amid decorations which were once white and gold. Against 
the walls are lounges covered with dingy crimson velvet. 
There is a haze of cigarette smoke, a babel of many tongues. 
We might be in Paris, Berlin, or Vienna; but in the two gay 
cities there would be more laughter. Frivolity seems strangely 
wanting in the Cafe Cosmos, which is not a Continental drink- 
ing resort at all. Within a few hundred yards of it are Pic- 
cadilly Circus, the Criterion, Leicester Square, and the 
Alhambra. 

What place can be more orderly ? And yet the police, in 
consequence of information received,’^ have an eye thereon. 

The Italian proprietor, who is sitting beside the little bar 
from which the drinks are served out to the waiters, smokes 
cigarettes sedulously, casting his beady black eyes ever and 
anon towards the clock. He beckons to a waiter. 

‘‘Jules.’^ 

Oui, monsieur'^ 

Give the message.*' 

Ceriainement,'^' 

Jules flits about, carrying a tasse cafe‘s to one, a bock 
bier''* to another. But every time he passes near a certain 
row of tables on the left-hand side of the room, he whispers 
in the ear of one or another of the persons seated at them the 
simple query, Did monsieur order white wine or red?** 

‘‘Red.’* 

“ Monsieur will be served in five minutes.** 

But no flagons of Leoville or even common Bordeau make 
their appearance on the marble-topped tables. 

Those who have received the message differ in no marked 
manner from their companions ; but the close observer may 
discover a subtle expression of unrest, dissatisfaction, and in 
some fanaticism, which is wanting in the faces of the other 
frequenters of the cafe. 

While Jules’s “ five minutes** are passing, the lovers of red 
wine rise unconcernedly one by one, and slowly saunter to- 
wards a door marked “ Billiards.** They do not stop to play 


124 


LADY VADS ELOPEMENT. 


on the two French tables, but walk through the room, and down 
a spiral staircase, leading to a lavatory on the floor beneath. 

At the foot of the stairs, in an angle of the wall, is a low 
narrow portal, a mere thing of matchboards, screening, it may 
be, the housemaid’s brooms and pans. Through this door 
they pass, though there appears in front of them a simple 
cupboard, its back utilised to support a tier of wooden shelves. 
But the back, shelves and all, gives way, and admits them to 
a long, low room, in total darkness save for the faint glimmer 
of a night-light, shaded with deep ruby glass. On their eyes 
becoming accustomed to the gloom, they grope their way to 
chairs, and seat themselves silently. 

While in this room, each man is a mere cipher — a number. 
They have reason to fear the spy, but deem darkness a safer 
disguise even than the mummery which, if writers of romances 
are to be believed, was indulged in by the conspirators of old 
time. 

No man speaks to his neighbour. There they sit, silently 
waiting in the darkness. Could their keen eyes pierce through 
those thick walls, one would not give much for the life of that 
traitor, Jules, at this moment conversing eagerly with a sharp- 
faced, clean-shaven man in a bye-street at the rear of the Cafe 
Cosmos. 

Presently the back of the cupboard is again opened and 
closed, and immediately a voice asks : 

‘‘ Who is here to-night?” 

“ Fifteen, four, two, eighteen, twenty-seven, thirty-six, 
forty-two,” and so each man gives his number. 

‘‘You have called this special meeting of the society. Fif- 
teen. Address our brothers, and make known to them what 
you desire.” 

There is a second’s pause, and then a singularly clear, un- 
hesitating voice makes answer : 

“ President and brothers, I have summoned you to obtain 
your permission to forego the work in Russia which I had 
undertaken by your order.” 


A RED NOTE. 


125 


Murmurs of dissent rise out of the darkness. 

That the work might have — must have — cost me my life, 
I cared little. But I ask for time to bring in another brother 
to our ranks. His name is ” 

Name him not ! What of him ?’^ It is the voice of the 
President. 

He is a young man of humble position, who, like ourselves, 
hates tyrants, and would right the wrongs of the world. For 
three years I have known him, and have often heard him speak 
at the Radical Club in Southwark. I have sown the seed, and 
would stay to cull the fruit. If he joins us, he w'ould work 
night and day for our great cause, and provide us with funds 
which we need, for the chances of Fortune have made him the 
owner of millions.^* 

‘‘We want no millions. Our mission is to destroy,*^ cries 
a thin, harsh voice. 

“ Silence orders the President. 

“With money we can buy our brothers out of Russian 
prisons. With money, such as this man could bring us, we 
can strike blow after blow against those who oppress us. 
Surely, brothers, it would be well that the vast fortune which 
has fallen to this young man’s lot should be spent in the cause 
of Freedom?” 

“ Explain your plan concerning him,” orders the President. 

“ I would persuade him to travel and see the world, and if 
he accepts my advice, would offer myself as a guide to him, 
for I speak many languages. I would show him the woes of 
the poor, the hateful tyranny of all laws, the oppression of the 
workers by the bourgeoisie. I would teach him the uselessness 
of striving by peaceful methods against the enormous powers 
which now rule the world. He is already an apostle of Free- 
dom ; let him but once be fully satisfied that force, and force 
alone, will bring about the regeneration of the world, and he 
becomes one of us.” 

The thin, harsh voice is again heard : 

“I know the man of whom Fifteen speaks. He is at .the 

II* 


126 


ZADV VArS ELOPEMENT. 


best a half-hearted Socialist. All who are not with us are 
against us. It costs no millions to throw a bomb. Our lives 
we give for the cause. Shall the punishment of the Russian 
tyrant be delayed a moment, brothers, so that we may have 
gold ? No ! a hundred times no ! Vive V Anarchie 

‘‘Brothers,^* — the President speaks — ‘‘must I again warn 
you against falling into the belief that our cause is to be won 
by senseless and frequent outrages perpetrated in the name of 
Anarchy ? A reptile press which describes us as the party of 
violence obscures our true objects, and our cause makes no 
way. We are the party of freedom. Governments are the 
party of violence, for it is by violence alone that they enforce 
their oppressive laws. When we employ violence, let it be in 
defence of ourselves and all men against oppression. But we 
must go behind the petty agents of the governments which 
attack us — men who are mere tools — and aim at the heads 
which direct them ; choosing our own hour and field of battle, 
and striking whether our enemy be slumbering, or organising 
attacks on us in the name of the laws which we would over- 
throw. We are few in numbers, but science has placed great 
powers in our hands. The end cannot be uncertain. When we 
have triumphed over and terrified the heads of government, 
when we have won battle after battle, then shall we make our 
terms with the conquered. First, the making of all laws shall 
be stopped ; next, bad laws shall be repealed ; then those that 
are unnecessary shall go; and finally, there shall remain 
none of these infamous laws which are enforced by violence 
and violence alone. Personal freedom shall be universal, and 
under its splendid influences humanity will be elevated, the 
selfishness and wickedness of man will disappear, and the well- 
being of all will be secured. Once law is abolished and the 
land is free, we strike no longer ; violence will be no longer 
required, for the party of violence which now governs will 
have been crushed. I have spoken of senseless and useless 
outrages. These disgust the world and keep from us many 
who would be adherents. When it becomes known that we 


A RED NOTE, 


127 


only carry on war against the heads of oppressive govern- 
ments, then our numbers will increase ; but we cannot spread 
our principles over the world except through the printing- 
press, except by the expenditure of money. We cannot aim 
well-timed and well-directed blows at our oppressors unless we 
have paid servants in every court, who will inform us of the 
incomings and outgoings of our enemies. With money, then, 
such as Fifteen hopes to gain for us, we can make known our 
principles throughout the world, increase our followers a 
thousandfold, and hold a commanding position from which 
we can destroy those powers whose rule is enforced by vio- 
lence. The bad results of government will disappear — polit- 
ical corruption, great armies, war in which thousands of our 
fellow-creatures are sacrificed, while those responsible sit at 
home in security ; taxes, privileges, oppression, all these must 
go, and the world shall be born anew and flourish under the 
standard of Freedom.’* 

A murmur of applause follows this speech. 

The President continues : 

Fifteen has given proof of his courage and devotion. 
The [mission on which we had sent him was almost certain 
death. Perhaps with the power which this money will give 
us we shall be victorious without the loss of our comrade. 
Remember, brothers, his gallant deeds in Vienna and Paris, 
and the years of his life spent in Siberian mines. Shall we 
not do as he desires ?’ ’ 

The President pauses an instant. 

“ There is no objection. Then, Fifteen, you are free to 
secure this young man and his millions for our cause. Has 
any one here other business for us to-night?” 

have returned from Italy ” 

‘‘Who?” 

“Twenty-seven. I failed, because the Prince kept his bed 

from illness. He died before I could ” 

There is a sudden opening of the door at the far end of the 
room, and a dazzling blaze of light from a large paraffin lamp 


128 


LADY FADS ELOPEMENT. 


held by an elderly woman who rushes in with pale, alarmed 
face. 

^‘Go!’^ she cries. ‘^The police are all over the house; 
but the back way is open. Show them, Monsieur Arriva ! 
Quick! there is no time to talk.’’ (For some are asking 
questions.) ‘‘ It was Jules, remember she adds, as an after- 
thought. ‘‘Go ! go 1 I hear them on the stairs.” 

There is no need for that “ Remember !” 

The conspirators vanish. The woman hurriedly blows out 
the red light, snatches up a work-basket from a cupboard, sits 
down, and seizes a needle and cotton. 

Detective Blood, who almost instantly makes his way into 
the room through the false cupboard, followed by half a dozen 
constables in plain clothes, sees a homely-looking woman with 
elbows on the table close to the lamp, endeavouring to per- 
suade an obstinate cotton end to pass through the all-too-small 
eye of a needle. 

“I heard you speaking,” he says. “Who was with 
you ?” 

The woman affects astonishment. 

“ What do you want here? This is my private room.” 

“ I have a warrant to search the house.” 

“What for?” 

“ For men who conspire against governments.” ^ 

“ The cafe is full of men. How can we know if they con- 
spire or not ?’ ’ 

“ I heard you speaking. Who was here?” 

The woman smiles. 

“ Oh, I often talk to myself when bothered, and my eyes are 
not what they used to be. I find it quite difficult to sew at 
night, but these things must be got ready for little Willie to 
take to school. I don’t think I shall ever be able to thread 
this needle, and yet the light’s good enough. My husband 
says I’m vain because I won’t take to spectacles; but they do 
make one look so old, don’t they; and I can read the smallest 
print by daylight. I ” 


A RED NOTE. 


129 

Detective Blood, whose keen eyes have been wandering, 
notices the door at the far end of the room. 

‘‘Watch this woman, and search for papers,’^ he promptly 
orders two of his men. “ Come on !’* and he unceremoniously 
dashes off, followed by four policemen. 

The only thing discovered is a small piece of paper with 
a sketch map of some large building, possibly a prison, 
on which are written a few words in Russian. The woman 
who is sewing explains to Detective Blood that a night or 
two previously one of her customers, an old friend, went 
out to get some shirt buttons for her, and brought them 
back wrapped in this paper, which she threw under the 
table. 

“ Where is the customer !’’ asked Detective Blood. 

“ How unfortunate ! He returned to France yesterday.** 

“ His address?’* 

“ He left none.** 

“What was he like ?** and Detective Blood produces a note- 
book. 

Madame’s description of her customer is certainly lacking 
in precision. No one would call him fair, and yet he is not 
dark — no, not by any means. It is difficult for her to say what 
colour his eyes are, she has paid so little attention to them. 
And his height, alas, she is no judge of height. 

Detective Blood does not discover very much. 

Gerald read about the raid on a supposed Anarchist Club in 
an evening paper of the following day. Not numbering, so 
far as he knew, any members of the fraternity among his ac- 
quaintances, he did not feel greatly interested, more particu- 
larly as no one was arrested. 

He was laying the paper down, when his eye caught a 
short paragraph coming under the head of “Latest Intelli- 
gence.** 


130 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT. 


A RED NOTE. 

Mysterious Discovery in the Thames.— The body of a man was 
recovered at low tide this morning by the Thames police. It was found fixed 
between two old piles abreast of the Little Angel Wharf at Messrs. Saw- 
brothers & Co., Wapping. The man appears to have been murdered, for 
over the region of the heart is a deep wound, such as might be made by a 
long, pointed weapon of some description. In a pocket of his jacket was 
found one of the metal tokens restaurant waiters use instead of money, 
stamped “ Caf4 Cosmos.” The proprietor of the cafe has been communi- 
cated with, and identifies the body as that of Jules Laval, one of his waiters, 
who was in the cafe up to the closing hour last night. It is suspected that 
there is some connection between the raid on the Anarchists’ Club and this 
supposed murder, but the police are singularly reticent on the subject. An 
inquest will of course be held. 


** There is, indeed, noth^ 
ing that so much seduces 
reason from vigilance as the 
thought of passing life with 
an amiable woman; and if 
all would happen that a 
lover fancies, I know not 
what other terrestrial happi- 
ness would deserve pursuit. 
But love and marriage are 
different states, ,,, I do 
not, however, pretend to 
have discovered that life 
has anything more to be 
desired than a prudent and 
virtuous 77tarriage ; there- 
fore know not what counsel 
to give ,"' — Dr. Johnson 


I 




I 


XIV. 


RORTESQUE LOEN. 

Two mothers and one father were conversing in the salon 
of the Fjordside Hotel at Loen. Several daughters and an 
equal number of sons were wandering up the smiling valley by 
the river towards the glacier-fed lake. 

The girls loved the sunny, cloudless, August weather, be- 
cause fishing by day was out of the question, and flirtation 
had its turn. The men — selfish beasts — having come to Nor- 
way for sport, gave no thanks to the Sun God. Flirtation they 
might have any day in the week at home, but these monster 
sea-trout were things of the Nord Fjord, and the season for 
them was fast fleeting. 

Bob was an exception, being no very ardent knight of the 
rod, and to his sisters* surprise still gave evidence of being 
‘^terribly gone** (that was the way young Dearlove expressed 
it) on Prudence Haulyard. In fact, he daily informed her she 
was the only girl he had ever loved ; but then, as Grace said. 
Bob never was famous for his memory. 

Bob and Prue led the way up the valley, the items of the 
procession — for procession it was — being couples of mixed 
sexes on the two*s-company-three*s-none principle. Next, but 
a long distance intervening, followed grave Mr. John White 
and Miss Louisa Legge, a dashing, handsome girl, with a tan- 
gle of auburn hair, who, for her height more than her sins, 
had been christened ‘‘Unlimited Loo.** The Unlimited One 
had not “ gone off* quite so soon as her mamma (who is now 
talking to Captain Haulyard in the salon) had anticipated, and 
certain neighbours, having placed two daughters during a visit 
to Norway, this tour had been undertaken by Mrs. and Miss 
Legge in preference to the annual six weeks at Eastbourne. 

12 133 


134 


LADY VArS ELOPEMENT. 


Next in order came Milly Blisse, a pink and white, short, 
plump, dimpled little doll of a girl, seriously afflicted with the 
giggles. With her a paragon of a man outwardly, no other 
than our long-promised Greek god, one Lionel Van Bombkin. 
Dearlove, who had been appointed christener-in-chief, nick- 
named the youth of Grecian outline, ‘‘Ganymede,’^ because 
he was the most beautiful of mortals. Milly became Melissa’ ’ 
— she was so sweet. 

Following this pair were sundry new arrivals who did not 
count, for it was a rule at Loen that no one who had not been 
at the hotel a week should have an opinion of his or her own, 
and was, moreover, liable to be termed ‘‘poisonous,” until 
the period of probation, during which he or she were kept 
under close supervision, was over. With one of the fair pro- 
bationers walked that jolly Scotchman, the boldest and gayest 
of the party, and therefore named by Dearlove “ MacMeekin.” 
To avoid confusion, so let us call him. Also included in the 
procession were certain other bright youngsters of both sexes, 
abounding with high spirits, and coupled. 

Finally, a kind of rear-guard followed in close order, our 
old friends (as regards two of them with quite new faces). 
Lady Val, still passing as “Mrs. Hutchinson,” Grace, and 
Ina. Hovering round them, and vainly endeavouring to 
detach Ina from her escort, was that merry boy, Dearlove. 
On either side were two heavy guns, “Father Christmas,” a 
stout, middle-aged, white-bearded manufacturer of cotton 
goods, named Marples, and “Colonel Tiffln,” a fiery-faced 
old Indian soldier, compulsorily retired, known in the army 
as Lieutenant-Colonel Van Bombkin, V.C., and father of the 
godlike Ganymede aforesaid. 

Dearlove was generally termed “The Boy,” and a very 
lively youth he proved, sparing none in his pranks, except his 
Hend and travelling companion, White. 

It is not easy to say what held this little society together 
so long, but mutual admiration may have materially assisted. 
The anglers excepted, its members had come to Loen to 


RORTESQUE LOEN, 


135 


spend at the most a few days or a week, and yet they stayed 
on indefinitely, giving up all kinds of beautiful tours. Visitors 
came and visitors went, but any who showed no ‘^poisonous’' 
symptoms, and appeared specially ‘‘rortesque” (a Loenese 
word, possibly founded on ‘^rorty’^), were admitted into the 
inner circle of Loenites, and lingered on in the wooden hotel 
at the mouth of the roaring little river in shadow of the big 
snow-capped mountain. 

A club was established in an unoccupied bedroom, and 
many a passing visitor wondered to see roughly printed on a 
big card nailed to the door, 


LOEN CLUB-ROOM. 

PRIVATE. 

The members were called Shaitans — Heaven alone knows 
why! ^‘Poisonous” ones entered not the sacred portal; but 
there was a guest-night once a week, when persons stopping 
in the hotel, who gave satisfactory evidence of being at all 

rortesque’* or Shaitanic,^^ were invited to spin yarns, 
smoke, and drink the whisky while it lasted, which was not 
very long. Once, indeed, for six whole days the Shaitans 
had to subsist on sour hock, and comparative melancholy 
prevailed. 

The Norwegian edition of the Gothenberg system is pro- 
ductive of much distress to travelling, whisky-drinking Britons. 

Three members of the club were honoured by the rest with 
the title of ‘^ultra-Shaitan,’^ which signified the possession 
of great and exceeding rortesque and clubable qualifications. 
Among these was Grace, who though at first strongly sus- 
pected of being “ poisonous,” at the end of a few days got on 
finely with the boys. 

“ No doosed nonsense about said Dearlove. 

She, MacMeekin, and The Boy formed the honoured trio. 
Ganymede was once admitted to the club-room as a guest, but 


136 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT, 


proved himself so extremely inane that the invitation was not 
repeated. 

He’s not exactly poisonous,” said MacMeekin, ‘‘but he’s 
sadly deficient in those rortesque qualities which go to make 
up a man and a Shaitan.” 

Take nothing too seriously, enjoy life while it lasts — this 
was the Loen creed of youth and high spirits. 

Lady Val fell under the spell of the place, and almost ban- 
ished from her memory the bully to whom she was mated. 
News of the baronet came through Herr von Doll. Sir Am- 
brose, it seems, reappeared in Baden-Baden, having somehow 
or other escaped from the top of the Feldberg, and roundly 
abused the amiable little keeper of the Amalienberg Hotel, 
declaring there was a conspiracy to mislead him and make 
him think his wife had run off with her brother. He was not 
such a fool as to believe that, etc., etc. He made inquiries 
in the town and neighbourhood, and apparently traced his 
errant lady to Gernsbach, for he visited that village. 

“But have no fear,” wrote Herr von Doll, “I think he 
has now lost the scent, for he questioned the police here, and 

I have a friend at headquarters who However, I must not 

tell you too much.” 

“Good old Doll!” exclaimed Bob, warmly, when Lady 
Val read the letter. 

As a matter of fact, though still hot on the chase. Sir Am- 
brose had to return to London to arrange the sale of his 
Revelsbury property to a certain Mr. John Brown, who had 
made him an offer for the whole of it, excepting the Dower 
House, which had been settled on Lady Val, and could not 
be sold. 

Now a word of explanation concerning the fair maid of 
Revelsbury. That amiable creature. Aunt Tabby — God bless 
her I — after worrying much over the small cloud which had 
fallen upon Ina and Gerald, decided to take Miss Carus into 
her confidence. So one morning, when paying that visit to 
London to arrange about the publication of her book on Ar- 


RORTESQUE LOEN, 


137 


menia, Grace received a letter of several pages, written in a 
slightly tremulous, fine, Italian hand. Our New Woman, who 
had rooms in the Cambridge Mansions, sent for Ina, and 
questioned her concerning aunts, young men, and so forth. 
The next day Aunt Tabby, who was still at Springbrook Farm, 
received a reply to her communication. 

^‘1 cannot say that I much favour sentimental love affairs,*’ 
wrote Grace, ‘‘but it is quite clear to me that if your niece 
and this young man are really attached to one another, and 
are well matched in tastes, disposition, and so forth, some- 
thing should be done to fit her for the position she may some 
day occupy. 

“ She is certainly wise to delay the marriage for a time. I 
had, as you probably know, asked her to come to me in the 
capacity of maid and companion, but under the circumstances 
she shall simply travel with me as my friend, and I will do 
what I can to polish up her education. It will be a great ad- 
vantage for her to meet people on equal terms when we are 
travelling, and I hope at the end of the year there will be 
no excuse for Mr. Kingley to back out of the arrangement. 
But if he wants to, let him.” 

Aunt Tabby thought Miss Carus very kind, but a trifle un- 
sympathetic in the matter of the tender passion. Grace’s views 
on love, plainly expressed, would have decidedly startled 
the good old lady, who was steeped in sentiment, and took 
no interest in physiology. 

Ina required some pressing to accept the new position. It 
would be so awkward for her, she thought, to pass as friend 
where she had been maid. But the Independent Gentleman 
said the right word at the right moment, and so it fell out 
that Ina journeyed with Miss Carus when that energetic young 
lady returned to Baden-Baden, and is now at Loen living 
almost as one of the family with Lady Val, Grace, and 
Bob. 

Bob, by the way, thought the arrangement charming, for, 
he reasoned with much truth, “after all, sisters, however nice 

12* 


138 ZADV VAVS ELOPEMENT. 

they may be, are sisters, don’t you know!” Perhaps this 
accounted for just a slight coldness between Prue and Ina. 

Our procession, rear-guard, big guns, and all, traversing 
the only road Loen can boast, duly reached the lake. There 
the Shaitans and their companions hired boats, and paddled 
aimlessly in various directions over the green waters. 

Ganymede, in a boat with Melissa, floundered about with 
heavy wooden oars attached to a single rowlock by a piece of 
twisted birch bough. He appeared to have a grievance 
against the old colonel. 

hate going out fishing with my father,” he said, confi- 
dentially, to Melissa, who giggled and asked why. 

‘‘He always catches more fish than I do. He had fifteen 
when we were on the lake yesterday, and I only caught two. 
I can’t understand it.” 

“ Perhaps he does understand it,” suggested Melissa, a trifle 
maliciously, and giggled again. 

“ Isn’t it extraordinary?” he went on. “ I find I can get 
on quite well with only three meals a day here. ’ ’ 

“ Oh, how many do you have at home, then ?” and Melissa 
hid a little yawn behind her small fat hand. 

“ Let me see. There’s a cup of tea and a slice of bread and 
butter in my bedroom, then breakfast, and mother likes me to 
have something at eleven, and we lunch at two. I’m gener- 
ally at home to afternoon tea, and, of course, dinner at eight ; 
mother always says we ought to have a piece of cake and a 
glass of wine going to bed. ’ ’ 

“Poor thing! You must feel the want of it here,” and 
Melissa again giggled. 

“ No, I don’t, I really don’t, and that’s so odd,” and the in- 
teresting, god-like youth pursued the absorbing topic until the 
party again congregated at the little quay where the road ends 
at the lake side. 

If Ganymede’s conversation was inane. Loo the Unlimited 
found her cavalier’s sufficiently heavy. About the only things 


RORTESQUE LOEN. 


139 


in life she cared for were horses, tennis, and dancing, and she 
had to school herself to listen patiently to a dissertation on 
the advantages of Norwegian land tenure. 

^^See,^' said White, ‘‘what happy, peaceful lives the peo- 
ple live in these villages. Most of them rent their land from 
the State for a small sum, so are in no danger of eviction. 
They are almost independent of money, producing their food, 
drink, and the material for their clothes ; and when the head 
of the family dies, the sons take equal shares, unless the eldest 
son chooses to buy them out, which he usually does, and so 
gives them a little capital to make a start in life.*^ 

“ It’s a pity it’s such a bad hunting country, isn’t it? And 
I hear they shoot foxes ! ’ ’ said Loo. 

“ They have other sports — ryper, reindeer, and bear among 
the mountains, salmon and sea-trout in the rivers ; and instead 
of one rich man holding all the sporting rights, they are held 
in common, with wise laws to prevent the over-destruction of 
game. Each farmer in Loen may fish in the River if he 
pleases. ’ ’ 

“That's not right,” said Loo, positively. “Farmers and 
p'^asants ought to attend to their business, and not go poach- 
ing all over the place. It wouldn’t be allowed in England.” 

“ But it may be some day. I have a few acres, and am 
thinking of trying to manage them on Norwegian principles.” 

“I wonder there’s any game in the country; there are no 
keepers nor anything,” continued Loo. 

“ The people are very law-abiding for their own sakes. A 
Norwegian doctor I knew near here inadvertently killed a 
blackcock just out of season. What do you think he did?” 

“Hid it in a rabbit’s hole,” suggested Loo. “That’s 
what the Dean of Abingdon did when he came to shoot at 
Uncle Ted’s and killed a running pheasant in mistake for a 
rabbit in September.” 

“ Dear old dean !” 
j “ You know him ?” 

“Oh, yes, at Oxford. I only took my degree last year. 


140 


LADY VALS ELOPEMENT. 


But the doctor did not bury the blackcock. He brought it 
home, inquired what the penalty was, and sent the money, 
with his compliments, to the — I don’t know exactly who — 
head man in the village, whoever he might be. ’ ’ 

I suppose you don’t know that your young farmer friends 
go to the river before you are down in the morning and catch 
all the sea-trout in the pools with worms ?” 

‘^Oh, that’s abominable !” cried White, warmly. 

Why, you just said they had a right to !” 

Yes — but — well. I’ll speak to Markus about it. It’s really 
too bad.” 

It’s one thing to theorise, and quite another to feel the 
practical effect of the theories in one’s own person. Mr. 
John White, much aggrieved, for he was an enthusiastic but 
unlucky fisherman, said nothing for a few moments. His 
companion broke the silence with the question : 

Do you hunt?” 

‘ ^ Yes. Sometimes. ’ ’ 

Loo looked much relieved, for she had determined to cap- 
ture our young friend whose several references to ‘‘acres” 
stamped him as a man of property. Certain shockingly new 
and rather radical theories had at first made her a little sus- 
picious of his position; but now she felt safe, “And as to 
that, mamma,” said she, “when we are married I can easily 
make him give up all those stupid ideas. ’ ’ 

Mr. John White might have been drawn towards Grace 
rather than Loo, for many of his tastes and ideas were similar 
to hers ; but he disapproved of her free and easy manner with 
the boys, and as a matter of fact had surrendered to the Un- 
limited One before our charming New Woman arrived on the 
scene. 

Now it must not be supposed for a moment that Grace was 
in the slightest degree a bold, bad, bare-faced young female, 
but she flatly refused to be debarred by reason of her sex from 
any fun that was going on. She accordingly made her way 
into the club-room one night, smoked a cigarette with the 


RORTESQUE LOEN. 


141 

Shaitans, gave them a little lecture on the natural history of 
the salmonidse, and, as I have related, was with their unani- 
mous approval raised to the dignity of an ultra-Shaitan. 

^‘Mrs. Grundy'* (Elhstmere) was much shocked at this de- 
pravity. But when Grace donned a very pretty bathing-dress 
one morning to race Ganymede across the arm of the fjord 
and back again, beating him by fifty yards, her expressions of 
horror were as unlimited as Loo’s inches, and Melissa with diffi- 
culty prevailed on her to remain in the hotel. Swimming was 
Ganymede’s one accomplishment, but Melissa by no means 
approved of his exhibiting his prowess in this particular way. 

Prue and Bob most thoroughly enjoyed their little crujse on 
the lake. I say ‘‘ little” advisedly, for rounding a rocky point 
out of sight of the rest. Bob forthwith fastened the boat’s 
painter to the overhanging bough of a silver birch, retreated 
to the stern-sheets beside Prue, placed his arm round that 
damsel’s waist, and deliberately kissed her. 

Oh, Bob ! what’s that for?” 

You looked so jolly sitting there I couldn’t help it.” 

But somebody might see us.” 

If they do they’re a long way off, and couldn’t be certain 
about it.” 

Do you think so?” 

Yes. It’s a pity to leave them wondering, so I’ll do it 
again,” and he did. 

Observe, please, that this was not the beginning of such 
things. Indeed, there was a tacit understanding, though as 
yet no avowed engagement, that Prue was to become Mrs. Bob 
at that very uncertain period known as ^^some day.” 

Norway a jolly place !” exclaimed Bob, enthusiastically. 

Any place is nice with nice people,” and Prue snuggled 
a little closer to him, if that were possible. Bob giving her a 
squeeze as if to say, So you think me nice, eh? you dear !” 

Bob and Prue were the last to return to the quay. 


142 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT. 


XV. 

ENTER THE DUKE. 

On the return journey everyone was hungry, small talk was 
more or less exhausted, and our little party had time to admire 
the exceeding beauty of the scenery. 

At the out-fall of the lake, the mountains closed in and 
came abruptly down to the water’s edge. Beyond the ridge, 
on the opposite side, lay the great field of snow and ice, many 
feet thick, the Jostedalsbrae, largest glacier of Europe. The 
hot August sun was melting the snow rapidly, and down the 
mountain sides leapt numbers of little milky, snow-broth tor- 
rents. Gradually the lake narrowed into a foaming, roaring, 
dashing river, tearing down a gorge, graceful trees growing 
among the rocks. Here and there the road touched the river, 
which at one spot broadened out, flowing quietly round two 
small islands, so beautiful with ferns, undergrowth, mossy 
rocks, and silver birches, that they might well be the abodes 
of Scandinavian nymphs. Presently the stream took a head- 
long dive over a slab of rock forming a horse- shoe fall below 
which the water churned into milk-white froth, and seethed 
down a deep, narrow channel, suddenly striking and dividing 
on a huge rock. 

The gorge into which the river fell was overhung by moun- 
tain ash and silver birches, the leaves of which, stirred by the 
zephyrs set in motion by the turbulent waters, quivered and 
rustled all the short summer through. From below the fall 
uprose a misty vapour on which, the sun shining brightly, a 
fragmentary rainbow appeared from time to time. There was 
a sound of running, splashing water, of humming bees, of 
pony-bells melodiously echoing from the mountain sides, of 
scythe-sharpening in a small meadow hard by, and a scent of 
hay already made — the sweetest in the world. 

All around, except towards the fjord, mountains closed in 


ENTER THE DUKE, 


143 


the scene, a great snow-capped fellow dwarfing the rest ; but 
down the beautiful valley one could watch the course of the 
river as it leapt and rushed, now steadying itself in a pool 
beloved of sea-trout, now jumping merrily aside to avoid some 
rocky obstacle, or rippling over stones and sand. Finally it 
divided into three streams, streaks of silver flowing through 
verdant meads into the great arm of the North Sea. 

By the side of the falls, seated among the rocks, our party 
of Shaitans and others enjoyed a bountiful lunch sent out to 
them by Herre Markus, under charge of Anna. 

Who visits Loen and does not know that best of creatures, 
with her big, broad shoulders and bright, good-natured, Eng- 
lish, smiling face ? Who is likely to forget her ready services, 
resourcefulness, kindness, and invincible determination to do 
anything and everything the guests may demand of her ? Was 
it the way up that six thousand feet of mountain to the eter- 
nal snows, the times of the Bergen steamboat, a button to be 
sewn on, a missing umbrella to be found, a hesitating lover to 
be quickened, a meal all in a hurry, or even a sea-trout fly 
that was needed, Anna was always equal to the occasion. 

^‘Little Sweetheart^* (so the Shaitans called her) ‘‘never 
goes to bed in the summer,** said MacMeekin gravely, as he 
pitched into a plate of ryper, a Norwegian variety of grouse. 
“In the winter she hides in a little cottage at Olden, and 
hybernates like a dormouse.** 

Little Sweetheart, who was forty-eight at least, tall as Mac- 
Meekin, and nearly twice as broad, laughed. 

“The winter is long, but then we have to knit and make 
clothes. 1*11 teach you ski lobning, if you will come over, 
Mr. MacMeekin.** 

“I wish you’d teach me how to catch the sea-trout,** said 
the Scotchman, with his mouth full. 

“I will; but not now. When you get back 1*11 tell you. 
It won’t do to let everyone know,” and Anna again laughed 
in her hearty fashion. 

She spoke English perfectly, thanks to three years* service 


144 


LADY VALS ELOPEMENT. 


in an English family. Perhaps for this reason she always had 
a warm corner in her heart for our countrymen. 

Little Sweetheart, you’re bulean,” said MacMeekin, grate- 
fully, using a Shaitanic adjective meaning much the same as 
rortesque. 

‘‘ If you’d shut these boys up in a safe cupboard three days 
a week, you’d do an old fellow a service,” said Colonel Tiffin. 

There’s only room for one rod on the water, and I declare 
there’s quite a forest of bamboos sprouting along the banks 
every day. It’s as bad as being in the jungle. I might just 
as well have stopped in India.” 

‘‘You shall have some beautiful char from the Olden Lake 
for dinner to-day,” said Anna, in pacific tones, for Little 
Sweetheart knew that the colonel placed the inner man far 
before sport with the fly-rod. 

“ Be very careful how they are cooked, Anna,” ordered the 
colonel, in warning tones. “ Don’t let them be swimming in 
butter again.” 

“Oh, that butter!” ejaculated Father Christmas, who was 
a bilious subject. 

“ Miss Springbrook, do have some jam and biscuits,” cried 
The Boy. 

Ina thanked him, and refused rather coldly. The preserve 
set her thinking of that little tea-party at Springbrook Farm, 
so lamentably broken up by the harsh message from Sir Am- 
brose. 

It is not a very cheering thing for a maiden whose lover is 
many miles away to pass the morning acting as a rear-guard to 
a regiment of happy couples, even if supported by two big 
guns and a scout whom she could very well do without. 
What a delightful picnic this would have been for Ina had 
Gerald been there I 

The road back to the hotel led first of all through wood- 
lands where large, dark-brown ants were building up hive- 
shaped heaps of pine needles ; across rustic bridges over 


ENTER THE DUKE, 


145 


torrents, the meltings of the snow which lay in patches on the 
sides of the big mountain ; past soft, verdant grass plots where 
broad-shouldered, pleasant -looking, white-sleeved women, 
with handkerchiefs on head, protection from the burning sun, 
were shaving off the growths with tiny scythes, keen as razors, 
and not much larger ; past small fields now planted with great 
poles, to which were tied sheaves of golden straw and grain ; 
past hay huts, from which came ravishing scents, such as 
never delight the noses of home-abiding English ; past rocks 
and birch trees, pines and alders; past the rows of juniper 
stakes with cross bars, to which the half-made hay is raised 
from the damp soil at night ; past a little village of wooden 
houses, white-painted wooden church with tapering wooden 
spire rising in the midst ; and finally leading to a handsome 
pine-wood, varnished hotel of many storeys. From its bal- 
conies one overlooked the fjord, the little stone quay at which 
the steam-boat from Faleide would stop if the water were deep 
enough, the delta of the river dividing low-lying green water 
meadows, the picturesque log-built stores by the water’s edge, 
and the pine-clad mountains on the opposite side of Loenbay. 

On the steps in front of the hotel door lay a large silvery 
fish ; surrounding it a group of admiring Norskers, and among 
them Captain Haulyard. With him a new arrival, evidently 
an English clergyman. 

Those confounded nets I” grumbled MacMeekin. 

Here’s a fish for you!” cried Haulyard. Come and 
look at it. I say it’s a salmon, but they all declare it’s only a 
sea- trout. ’ ’ 

I should like to know how we are to catch anything with 
the traps taking all the best fish,” said The Boy. 

Why, don’t go to picnics,” said Captain Haulyard, laugh- 
ing. This gentleman, who only arrived at eleven o’clock, 
caught him within an hour after landing on the quay.” 

Great was the wrath of the Shaitans, for they looked on the 
river as their own. Here was a new-comer, an elderly, sandy- 
whiskered clergyman, with an ancient, twisted, bamboo rod, 
ok 13 


146 


LADY FADS ELOPEMENT, 


rusty old spinning-bait, and a frayed clothes-line, pulling out 
the fish of the season. Decency compelled them to congratulate 
the fortunate captor ; that done, they retired apart, and low 
mutterings and conspirings filled the air. 

Presently MacMeekin withdrew, and sought Anna at the 
rear of the hotel. 

^‘Little Sweetheart, your secret, please?’* 

What secret, sir?” 

How to catch those trout.” 

‘^It is easy. You must rise early, long before the others, 
and be first by the river. I think sometimes the fish which 
have swum up from the fjord at night have been all caught 
before you begin to seek them.” 

Oh !” and MacMeekin retired to meditate. 

A few minutes later Bob sauntered round that way. 
say. Little Sweetheart.” 

^^Yes, Mr. Carus.” 

‘‘You said you would tell Mr. MacMeekin how to catch 
the fish. Won’t you tell me?” 

JaveL Rise early before the others, and you will catch 
many big trouts.” 

“ Oh !” and Bob retired to meditate. 

As he passed round one corner of the building The Boy 
appeared at the other. 

“ ‘ Little Sweetheart, come and kiss me,’ ” he sang, in the 
words of an ancient Christy minstrel ditty. 

“ Where are you ? Anna ! Anna ! ’ ’ 

“ Here, sir, here ; what’s the matter?” 

“ Why, a nasty parson has come and caught our biggest fish, 
and you said you’d tell us how to catch them. Now, how is it 
to be done ?” 

“Rise early, Mr. Dearlove, before the others. That’s the 
only way.” 

“ What ! you haven’t any special bait or fly ?” 

“No.” 

“ Oh !” and The Boy retired to meditate on the subject. 


ENTER THE DUKE, 


147 


Little Sweetheart had a big heart, and, like poor Trilby, an 
all-embracing regard and liking for nice clean Englishmen. 
She had no especial favourites among the Shaitans. She left 
such weaknesses to persons with small minds, like Loo and 
Melissa. When, therefore, beautiful Ganymede, who felt 
ambitious to kill fish also, came and asked her to give up 
the secret, she yielded him the same information as the 
rest. Nor was she in any way reticent with others who sought 
her advice, including even Colonel Tiffin, who chuckled as he 
left her : 

‘‘ Ah 1 Of course. Get up early before the jungle of bam- 
boos is abroad. What a fool I am not to have thought of that 
sooner !’* 

Last of all the grave Mr. John White sent for Anna to his 
room, and interrogated her on the mysteries of angling. He 
was more methodical and exacting than the others in his que- 
ries. What hour must he rise ? That did not matter so long 
as he was before anyone else. Which pool must he fish first ? 
The one which pleased him best, and so on, question and 
answer (duly entered in note-book), until poor Little Sweet- 
heart began to bless this serious Englishman who was keeping 
her from laying supper. 

I vote we do something bold,*^ said The Boy. 

Oh, keep quiet, do. Let's enjoy this beautiful scene. 

Oh, my ! Our New Woman’s getting poetical,” exclaimed 

Bob. 

Our Shaitanic friends had appropriated the lower balcony 
to themselves, sundry new arrivals, including the captor of the 
big fish, being rigorously excluded. They had been sitting 
for some time watching the strange yet beautiful yellow glare 
which streamed out over the water from behind the rocky 
point of Visnaes Bay. Their own branch of the fjord was 
almost hidden in darkness, but this weird light, a last effort 
of the dying sun, still blazed out from behind the moun- 
tains. 


148 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT. 


‘‘It might almost be the glow of some immense Titanic 
forge/’ said Lady Val. 

“Yes, when the bellows are given an extra hard blow.” 

“Bob, you have no poetry in you,” said Prue. 

“ Oh ! haven’t I ? Just try me.” 

The golden light was quickly dulling, a yellow haze remained 
for a few seconds, and then gave way to darkness. The balcony 
was now only lit by a soft red light coming from a lamp sus- 
pended above the Shaitans’ heads. 

“There now! It’s gone,” said The Boy. “What shall it 
be?” 

“Poetry,” suggested Prue. 

“ How?” 

“A line each. You begin.” 

“ But what about ?” 

“Anything.” 

The boy laid his head in his hands and pondered. 

“ How will this do ?” he said at last : 

“ A very vapid, vamping, varied sort of vampire.'’ 


And Grace, MacMeekin, and Bob, each adding a line, the 
following remarkable verse was the result. As The Boy truly 
said, Browning was not in it : 


“ A very vapid, vamping, varied sort of vampire, 

A glitt’ring Shaitan rose from out the swarthy billow, 

Wrappit a feshing snood around our Little Sweetheart, 

That night the maid's head lay on watery pillow 1” 

“There are some newspapers in the salon,” said Mrs. 
Grundy, hintfully, putting her head through the hall window. 

“How’s the state of Europe, Mrs. Blisse?” asked the 
irreverent Boy. 

“I really think we had better go in,” said Melissa. 

“No, don’t,” urged Ganymede. “I’ll fetch a paper out 
here.” 


ENTER THE DUKE. 


149 


And I’ll read it to you all — pick out all the little tit-bits,” 
said MacMeekin. What’s this ? Oh, Beyer' s Weekly News. 
What would you like? Here’s a novelty — ‘ Olasen’s new 
hotel recomands the travelling public at kindly remembrance. 
Situated in the bottern of the Jostefjord. Beautiful scenery 
of the fjord. Fish -river for salmon and throut to free use for 
the kostomers. Good beeds and kitchen at moderate prices. ’ ’ ’ 
A diving-bell’s nothing to it,” said The Boy. 

We stopped at one hotel which was described on the card 
as being picturesquely perched upon a peaceful, pine-clad 
promontory in the Hardanger Fjord, and that telephone’s and 
medical men were laid on,” said Mr. John White, laughing. 

Now, here’s something for the ladies,” continued MacMee- 
kin. ‘‘It’s under ‘Notes and News,’ and is a cutting from 
The Atlas. 

“ ‘ The young Duke of Silchester, who so distinguished him- 
self at Oxford, before taking upon his shoulders the manage- 
ment of his vast estates in Gloucestershire, Devon, and Wales, 
is very wisely spending a few months on the Continent to study 
the various land systems and methods of cultivation. The 
more freely to make his observations and prosecute his 
inquiries, he and Lord Caterham are travelling incognito. He 
has already passed some time in France and Germany, and, 
after a visit to the west coast of Norway, will return home in 
September.’ ” 

“ There’s a less complimentary version of that matter in the 
Veritas that came yesterday,” said Grace. “ Get it, Bob 
dear.” 

“Bob dear” got it, and MacMeekin hunted up the para- 
graph and read as follows : 

“That unfortunate young man, the Duke of Silchester, is, 
thanks to the law of entail, burdened with vast estates which 
are in themselves a small kingdom, and must be a perfect white 
elephant to him. He has been facetiously termed a radical, 
being supposed to favour certain mild alterations in our land 
system. At the present moment he is making a feeble but well- 

13* 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT, 


150 

intentioned attempt to discover the causes of the agricultural 
depression by studying, in the superficial manner common to 
travelling Englishmen, some of the more successful land sys- 
tems of the Continent, and may be expected to communicate 
to our hereditary legislators the startling discovery that these 
things are better done in France, and elsewhere, than at home. 
Meanwhile, certain mothers with eligible daughters do not 
hesitate to express their fears that this great catch will be 
snapped up by some foreign princess or ballerina, for it is 
whispered that His Grace showed himself of a decidedly 
amorous disposition while at Oxford. The last news of the 
young duke is, that he is in Norway, working up the west 
coast towards the Nord Fjord, visiting various hotels, fishing 
a good deal, and studying the habits of the peasants as well as 
his absolute ignorance of the language will allow . ' * 

It’s getting quite chilly out here,” suddenly broke out Loo. 

Yes, let’s go in,” said Melissa. 

As a rule, the last hour of the evening spent in the salon, 
where Herre Markus had provided an excellent piano, was the 
merriest of the day. But, to-night, some strange influence 
seemed to have thrown a wet blanket over the party. The 
Cams family, Ina, and Prudence, nobly aided by MacMeekin 
and The Boy, vainly endeavoured to set the ball of fun rolling. 
But the Blisses and the Legges, and other nice young ladies 
and their mammas, were so full of this interesting duke and 
the possibilities of his visiting Loen, that they had no mind for 
the pleasant little frivolities into which they usually entered 
so heartily. 

Mr. John White, who was unusually dull, retired to bed 
early, while The Boy was quite offensive with some suppressed 
joke which made him gigglesome even as Melissa, and in- 
clined each and every elderly lady present to suppose he was 
poking fun at them. 

At an early hour the following morning untidily clad forms, 
with hair uncombed, and carrying uncleaned boots in their 


ENTER THE DUKE, 


hands, stealthily descended the creaking stairs of the hotel. 
It was certainly curious that no two of them chose exactly the 
same moment to leave the building. Mr. John White was 
last, having devoted a few minutes to studying the notes 
taken of his conversation with Anna. Gannymede was of the 
party, so were The Boy, MacMeekin, the Colonel, Bob, and 
three others. 

MacMeekin was first at the river side. While selecting a 
fly. Bob joined him. 

Well, you are up early. 

Sc are you !’^ 

‘‘There’s room for both of us. You take the upper pools. 
Blazes ! here’s Ganymede, and the colonel, and hang it, if 
The Boy isn’t following them !” 

Within ten minutes all the Shaitans were assembled. Colo- 
nel Tiffin, again finding himself in the middle of a bamboo 
jungle, swore a big, strange oath in Hindustani, and beat a 
retreat to bed. The rest looked at one another, and thought 
of the awful efforts they had made to wake, and rise early, in 
obedience to Anna’s admonition. Even The Boy could get 
no fun out of the situation. Each man there deemed that he 
alone was acting on Little Sweetheart’s advice, and that the 
others were simply interlopers. After a few casts, one and all 
declared fishing to be out of the question that morning, and 
most of them went back to bed, waking the house with their 
heavy, iron-shod shooting-boots, as they tramped down the 
passages of the resounding wooden building. 

Shortly after which a young Norsk farmer came down from 
Loen village with a willow-wand, a cod-line and hook, and a 
worm or two, and pulled out several silvery sea-trout, which 
he sold to Herre Markus, who had them cooked for the Shai- 
tans’ breakfast. 

“ Those wretched society papers have given us away nicely, 
haven’t they ?” said The Boy to Mr. John White, as the pair 
walked back to the hotel. 


152 LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT, 

perfectly scandalous. Veritas is most insulting.*^ 
‘‘The truth is often unpleasant/* said Ihe Boy; but he 
said it to himself. 


XVL 

SIR AMBROSE PERSECUTED OF WOMEN. 

In the cause of prudence an engagement may be deferred, 
but is that any reason why two loving young hearts which 
were evidently intended by Providence to beat in close prox- 
imity, should be separated for twelve long months ? 

What more natural, now Gerald was rich, than an indul- 
gence in the long-wished-for delights of travel ? Of course, 
the fact that a certain pretty farmer* s daughter was in Norway 
had nothing to do with his desire to turn his steps Scandina- 
viawards. Was it not a country to be studied ? for there, so that 
strange creature, Lestrus Arriva, told him, the peasant farmers 
were poor, yet happy, and free almost as the little lemmings 
which had invaded the west coast that summer. 

What more natural, too, that when Lestrus, his friend of the 
Radical Club, dined with him at a little foreign restaurant in 
Soho — O ! most luxurious millionaire ! — and said : “I should 
like to travel again myself. Take me with you. I know the 
world, and languages, and will be of service to you,** — what 
more natural, I say, than to find this well-read, but unworldly- 
wise, erstwhile bookseller’s assistant jumping at the offer ? For 
among men Lestrus seemed to him the most all-knowing. 
Lestrus the dark, handsome, mysterious one, of many moods : 
sardonic, genial — gay, sad — enthusiastic, despairing — often 
cynical, yet sometimes tender-hearted. Lestrus of the pierc- 
ing eyes which sparkled and burned in deep hollows, over- 
shadowed by black, shaggy brows. Lestrus the dark, pale- 
faced, clean-shaven cosmopolitan, coming whence none knew ; 
going whither — ah, who could say? 


SIR AMBROSE PERSECUTED OF WOMEN, 


153 


The sale of the Revelsbury estate to our fortunate young 
friend detained both him and Sir Ambrose in London, the 
Independent Gentleman running up to town several times in 
that connection. A phantasmal being, a sort of modern 
Richard Roe or John Doe, was the apparent purchaser, Mr. 
Gooden ough having advised Gerald to keep well in the back- 
ground for the present. 

If Sir Ambrose discovers that the hard-hitting person 
who knocked him down in his own portico in the small hours 
of a certain foggy February morning is the purchaser, it is 
quite on the cards that he will cry off. So lie low, Kingley, 
as the Yankees say, until that useful individual, John Brown, 
has settled the matter. It will not take long for J. B. to 
transfer his interest to you.’^ 

Thus the Independent Gentleman expressed himself, know- 
ing Sir Ambrose very much better than did Gerald. 

The devoted and ardent lover fretted and fumed mightily 
at the law^s delays. He had hoped for the consolation of an 
almost daily letter from Ina, but in Norway no one is in a 
hurry, especially when other folk’s affairs are concerned. 
Sometimes, after impatiently waiting a week, he would re- 
ceive three letters at once, and a day or two later one of still 
earlier date. 

Gerald was not the only one who had an interest in the 
aberrations of the Norwegian postal authorities. After the 
conveyance was finally approved and signed. Sir Ambrose had 
an inspiration. Where Ina was there also would be Grace, 
for the girl had told him at Baden-Baden she was acting as 
companion to his sister-in-law ; and Lady Val might be heard 
of through Grace. Possibly the two were in company, for 
the New Womenkind — so reasoned the baronet — rather ad- 
mired and approved the running-away of wives and might be 
expected to encourage that sort of thing. Therefore, so ran 
his final conclusion, to find Ina was the first step on the way 
to Lady VaPs abiding-place. He clutched eagerly at any 
chance straw of this kind, for the American widow, who by 


154 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT, 


no means approved of the Revelsbury sale, was beginning to 
cool, and unconsciously stimulated him by divers flirtations. 

Sir Ambrose placed the matter in the hands of his new 
butler, Sellar, for Mr. Williams had seceded, a long list of 
grievances culminating in his being persistently addressed as 
‘^waiter’’ by a ‘Mow feller, an entertainer who was had 
down from town one evening to amuse Mrs. Vanderveldt and 
other guests. 

Mr. Sellar sent little Winks to the farm-house. 

“ Don’t give our address to anyone. You can easily redi- 
rect my letters,” had been Ina’s instructions to her father 
shortly after the baronet’s arrival in Baden-Baden. 

So little Winks’s address-hunting expedition failed. But 
he learned that Ina was still abroad, and that if any of the 
servants wrote to her, Joseph Springbrook would see that 
their letters were forwarded. 

All this took time, and the middle of August had arrived 
before Sir Ambrose’s solicitors sent the following letter to Ina, 
addressing it, “Springbrook Farm, Revelsbury.” 

“ Fox & Preyer, Solicitors. 

“ Commissioners to Administer Oaths, 

“ 143A Lincoln's Inn Fields, W.C. 

“ Dear Madam, — If you will communicate with us you 
will hear something to your advantage. We are deterred 
from saying more, being uncertain if this communication will 
reach you. We enclose a stamped envelope for reply, 

“And beg to remain. Dear Madam, 

“Your faithful servants, 

“Fox & Preyer.” 

“To Miss Springbrook.” 

Much hung on that fateful letter. Would Mr. Fox or Mr. 
Preyer have sent it had they been able to read the future, and 
foresee the loss of a lucrative client arising out of those 
apparently innocent lines? 

Revelsbury paid for. Sir Ambrose having some of the tor- 


SIR AMBROSE PERSECUTED OF WOMEN. 


155 

quoise-earned sovereigns to play with, spread himself,** if I 
may use an appropriate transatlanticism, in an attempt to please 
la belle Americaine, who, through ‘‘puppa,** had gently con- 
veyed to his understanding that if the matter was much longer 
delayed, it would be delayed altogether. It is possible she 
may have considered this elderly baronet sans Revelsbury no 
great catch, but we may do her an injustice, so let us be 
charitable, and assume that her change of front was simply a 
sign of that sickness of heart arising from hope deferred, and 
that from the first. Sir Ambrose* s charm of manner had capti- 
vated her, thoughts of hymeneal bliss alone filling her bosom, 
the place where, according to all precedent, ladies* thoughts 
of that character are supposed to lie hidden. However that 
may be, a trip to Trouville in company with the patent-ex- 
ploiting ‘‘puppa** and her well-beloved soothed her mightily, 
though the bathing customs shocked her American ideas of 
propriety. 

At the gay French watering-place one of those irritating lit- 
tle incidents which crop up in the best regulated family circles 
occurred, greatly to Sir Ambrose* s discomfiture. While wan- 
dering on the sands one morning with Mrs. Vanderveldt and 
her ‘‘puppa,** he suddenly found himself face to face with his 
Parisian divinity, Helene Diologent, in bathing costume, so 
piquante that it would have been a sin to wet it. Helene* s 
mouth rounded in the half utterance of a checked ‘‘Oh!** 
Sir Ambrose subjugated an oath. 

Hdene was discreet, and passed on. The visitors* list 
revealed to her the hotel at which the English baronet was 
stopping, and her maid easily obtained a sufficiently definite 
idea of the relations existing between the American lady and 
the baronet. 

Hotel chambermaids are sympathetic and communicative in 
such cases. 

Mademoiselle Diologent pondered over the situation. 

“ He owes me something for leaving Paris so rudely without 
even making his adieux. He shall pay now.** 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT, 


156 

A heavily-scented, delicately-tinted note reached Sir Am- 
brose. 

Come and see me, mon cher ; or shall I call on you?” 

Oh ! what trouble these women were to him ! First Elsie, 
then her handmaid striking through a sweetheart, next 
Helene, Grace, Mrs. Vanderveldt, and now Helene again. 
He cursed the sex, but called at the appartements meubles 
occupied by the little French actress. 

She received him charmingly. This was really a happy 
meeting (she spoke English to perfection) — she had been so 
dull at Trouville — so few friends. But now he had arrived it 
would all be different ; he would take her everywhere. 

Sir Ambrose sat glumly silent. 

You are not so nice as you were in Paris.” 

‘^I’m afraid I can’t be seen with you here. I’ve friends 
with me.” 

But you had friends in Paris. You were not prudent in 
those days. Why now ? No, I shall not let you be so fool- 
ish.” 

My dear Helene, there are reasons. I can’t very well 
explain to you why, but I really can’t go about with you 
here. I daren’t even visit you.” 

‘‘ Ha ! So there is another lady I You prefer her to me ! 
I will not suffer it ! ” and she assumed her best high tragedy 
air. 

Beads of perspiration showed on Sir Ambrose’s forehead. 
He began to beg and implore. 

Suddenly she changed the subject. 

There are some pretty things in the shops here ?” she said. 

The baronet hadn’t noticed them particularly. 

There is the most lovely diamond bracelet imaginable in 
the left-hand corner of Monsieur le Grand’s window. Two 
big ruby hearts with a diamond dagger right through them. 
It’s so chic ; I have fallen in love with it. Oh ! mon cher, I 
don’t want to be unkind. I can forgive much for the sake of 
old happy times.” 


LESTRUS ARRIVA DREAMS. 


157 

You won’t do anything unpleasant, will you?” implored 
Sir Ambrose. 

‘^ril try and be discreet; but you make me very angry 
with your foolishness. I can tell you, Englishmen here are 
very glad to be seen with me. Well, I will see. Do look at 
the bracelet when you pass the shop next time. It is so 
pretty!” 

I will,” said Sir Ambrose. 

Exactly thirty-five and a quarter minutes later, seven thou- 
sand francs of the turquoise fortune went into the coffers of 
Monsieur le Grand. 

Sir Ambrose, fearing further phlebotomy d la fran^aise^ 
persuaded his companions to cross the Seine to Havre, hold- 
ing out as inducements les courses d cheval^ and the beauties 
and antiquities of Normandy. He was prepared to resume 
his search for Lady Val immediately he received Ina’s ad- 
dress from Fox & Preyer. Grace’s assertion that her sister 
was travelling with Robert Cams rendered it more necessary 
than ever that he should personally view the couple. A de- 
tective, even if he discovered their whereabouts, could not 
say for certain if the gentleman was brother or t’other thing. 

For the present, then, we may leave him in charge of Mon- 
sieur Frascati, awaiting the telegram from his solicitors. 


XVII. 

LESTRUS ARRIVA DREAMS. 

It is diflScult for a poor novelist to imagine — ah ! vain im- 
aginings I — how a young man feels and thinks when he unex- 
pectedly finds himself in the possession of millions. If, accord- 
ing to the advice so often given to writers, each scribe were to 
confine his pen to subjects with which he is most familiar, 
millionaires would rarely figure as heroes. 

We may venture to assume, however, that about this period 

14 


LABY VArS ELOPEMENT, 


158 

of our history, Gerald Kingley’s thoughts dwelt far more on 
his lady-love over the North Sea than on his possessions in 
Australia and Oxfordshire. 

The Independent Gentleman strove to awake in him a proper 
sense of his responsibility, but Gerald was like the young woman 
in the quaint old song with which Mr. Odell has oft delighted 
the members of the Savage Club — 


“ She only wanted Robin, and Robin wanted she.” 

Mr. Goodenough suggested a set of chambers for our 
millionaire, who at this time would not hear of shifting his 
quarters until he could make Revelsbury his home. He was 
naturally most anxious to do something for his uncle ; but the 
old bookseller emphatically declared he had everything in this 
world he cared about, and refused to be done for. So Ger- 
ald employed three men to buy books daily at the shop, an 
innocent little artifice which saved Jonathan Kingley’s pride, 
if he had any, and possibly gave him more satisfaction than 
any direct gift. 

About this time a firm of solicitors informed the mother of 
that Julia whose fair face, it may be remembered, adorned the 
pastry-cook's shop over which Aunt Tabby lodged, that a 
friend, who wished to be nameless, had purchased the house 
in which she lived, and made her a free gift of it. Welcome 
news this to the widow to whom life had been one long strug- 
gle to pay rent. Moreover, that a sum of ;^3oo had been 
invested in Consols, and would be paid to Julia on her mar- 
riage. 

I wonder if this dowry was in the nature of conscience- 
money ? Did a certain young bookseller have twinges on re- 
membering the exchange over the counter of glances and salu- 
tations on the whole brighter and warmer than the nature of 
the business altogether justified ? Be it also noted that the 
manager of a West End theatre suddenly discovered great 
merit in Julia's friend, Annabel, who, as recorded in an earlier 


LESTRUS ARRIVA DREAMS. 


159 


chapter, was another of Gerald's old admirers, and offered her 
a modest part at a salary which turned more than one of her 
friends’ pretty faces quite green with envy. 

Then there was the compositor, with incipient consumption 
and a large young family, living three doors from Jonathan’s, 
who, to his amazement, was given an opportunity of a health- 
restoring sojourn in South* Africa, coupled with the promise 
that his wife and pale-faced children should be placed in the 
country, and well looked after during his absence. 

There were many such cases — of the compositor and not 
the young lady type, be it understood — which were treated 
with equal consideration. Evidently a benefactor was abroad. 
The expression may be taken literally, for, as a matter of 
fact, he was en route for Loen, having, in his impatience to 
reach Ina, simply written out a long, a very long, list of bene- 
fits to be conferred, and left it with the Independent Gentle- 
man, who was thoroughly in his element. 

Mr. Goodenough had wisely advised Gerald to keep the 
incident of his fortune more or less a secret for the present. 

Otherwise,” said he, ‘‘you will be overwhelmed with beg- 
ging letters, applications from tradesmen, and visits from all 
sorts and conditions of persons, whose one aim and object is 
to fleece you.” So the story only leaked out very gradually, 
and, for a wonder, did not find its way into the papers. 

All impatient to attack the Revelsbury problem, and bring 
liberty, light, and life into the beautiful but benighted vil- 
lage, the Independent Gentleman inclined to resent Gerald’s 
flight over the North Sea. 

“ But you can set to work as soon as you like,” said Ger- 
ald. “ I really wish you would.” 

They had been dining together, and were in the smoking- 
room of Mr. Goodenough’ s club. 

“ But I must have your approval as I go along,” said Mr. 
Goodenough, carefully testing the condition of a cigar. 

“You have it in advance ; only don’t ruin the beauty of 


i 6 o 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT. 


the place. As a start, take down every yard of barbed wire 
and every sheet of corrugated iron roofing. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ By boarding over the damp brick floors, and a few other 
alterations, we might make some of the existing cottages into 
alms-houses for the old people,” said Mr. Goodenough, 
‘‘building new ones for the men with families. Will you 
have coffee ?” 

“No, thanks. But half an acre of land to each cottage, 
mind ! and more if they want it. If each labourer in Eng- 
land and Wales were given as much land as he and his family 
could work, I calculate that at least 100,000 acres would soon 
be brought into a high state of cultivation. Of course you’ll 
see that the small tradesmen have little holdings, as much as 
they can manage, and all are to have fixity of tenure. The 
success of our experiment depends on that. The future 
of English farming does not rest with the big men, who, 
during prosperous years, gradually grow to regard themselves 
as country gentlemen, and get above their work. It is the 
small working farmer in whose hands lies the future of Eng- 
lish agriculture. He has tided over the bad times far better 
than the big men.” 

“The fact is,” said the Independent Gentleman, “that 
the competition in farm produce is so keen nowadays that the 
business will not support a non-working farmer. Now, as to 
Joseph Springbrook. He is under notice to quit, you know.” 

“ I should very much like to give him the farm.” 

“ I doubt if he would accept it, at least not yet. When 
you have married Ina, it will be different. You might settle 
it on her with power to do as she pleases with it. ’ ’ 

“Yes; I will do that. But of course withdraw his notice 
to quit, and reduce his rent as much as you think right, or a 
little more.” 

“ Would you like anything done about the water for the 
cottages? Nearly all the wells are more or less polluted.” 

“ Drive tube-wells wherever they are wanted, and, by-the- 
bye, we must have windows to open in every bedroom.” 


LESTRUS ARRIVA DREAMS, 


i6i 


The sanitary inspector will faint. But, my boy, what 
about another parson ?’ ’ 

‘‘ I don’t see what I can do.” 

You are the patron of the living, you know,” said the 
Independent Gentleman, suggestively. 

^‘Well ?” 

‘‘And might possibly, or I might, get someone to offer 
something better to Lias. It’s merely a matter of money.” 

“It seems a difficult question. I don’t feel I have a right 
to give any noodle I please the living, whatever the law may 
be. The divergences of opinion are so great between the 
various sects that one may almost say there are four different 
religions being carried on in the village, and each little con- 
gregation thinks itself more truly Christian than the others. 
Couldn’t we get a man of broad views who would satisfy most 
of them, and bring the villagers to worship under one roof? 
— A New Testament Church. ’ ’ 

“ Oil and water do not mix easily ; but will you leave it to 
me?” 

“ By all means ; only if you get a new man let the people 
choose him themselves, and have some account of him, some 
testimonial from the poor in his last parish.” 

“You fearful radical !” 

“Yes, I suppose I am,” said Gerald, mildly, and he sailed 
the next day for Norway, leaving a power of attorney with 
Mr. Goodenough. 

Surely never were such weighty matters settled in so short 
a time and with less difficulty. 

Gerald sat on the foredeck late the first evening watching the 
stem of the good ship Domino ploughing the North Sea. On, 
on, on, ever forward, nearer and nearer to Ina. To him a won- 
derful voyage over an enchanted ocean. There was a myste- 
rious stillness in the air, save for the throbbing of the propeller. 
Violet and grey-blue lights were reflected in the calm water; 
the sun, a great ball of fiery orange, was descending beyond 
/ 14* 


i 62 


LADY VALS ELOPEMENT, 


distant mists. Even the steamer’s smoke became beautiful as, 
gradually left astern, it spread out a tracery of carbon, bank- 
ing up to leeward. There followed wondrous after-glows. 

Lestrus came and sat beside Gerald, who did not want him. 

“ Nature undefiled ! It is different to London.” 

Very.” 

Gerald was disposed to be laconic. 

Imagine the world without big cities ; imagine them all 
blotted out !” 

‘^Well ?” 

With them would go ninety-nine hundredths of the misery 
and poverty and crime.” 

‘‘ What time shall we get to Stavanger?” asked the impa- 
tient lover, his thoughts running in other channels. 

Lestrus bit his lip. He was not quite the man in whom the 
stricken swain could confide the story of his love, and so 
knew nothing of Ina. Gerald had merely said he wished to 
visit friends at Loen as soon as possible after arriving in Nor- 
way. 

Cities are the bad effects of government and law. Strange ! 
is it not ?” 

^^How?” asked Gerald, languidly interested. 

Ina did not live in a city. 

The country was ruled by marauding nobles. Those who 
were neither slaves nor nobles banded together for safety with- 
in four walls. But oppression soon grew as unbearable within 
those walls as beyond them. The burghers have always op- 
pressed the poor.” 

There always will be oppression,” said Gerald, until the 
poor are educated and learn their power. The ballot-box and 
the school board are the greatest reformers.” 

Ballot-boxes and school boards 1 ” exclaimed Lestrus, 
scornfully. ^^They have hardly touched the fringe of the 
question in England, where misery and poverty are as great as 
ever ; and you think nothing of other countries. Are not all 
races of the word one brotherhood ? Shall we have no sym- 


LESTRUS ARRIVA DREAMS. 163 

pathy for the poor creatures from whose backs the Russian 
knout tears living flesh ? What of the long winter march into 
Siberia, the toil in those deadly mines, the labour under 
tropical suns and pestilential climates endured by French 
prisoners, the outrages and barbarisms on the crushed Arme- 
nians? Tell me where the poor are- not oppressed in the 
name of the law before you talk of school boards and the 
ballot. We will have to wait centuries for these to effect 
anything. Stronger measures are needed than lesson books 
and wooden boxes. 

Gerald opened his eyes widely. 

What do you mean by stronger measures ?” he said. 

Measures which would strike terror ! I hear that a great 
scientific inventor is making aerial machines by which 500 
pounds of dynamite . can be exploded in the air. Think what 
that would mean over city or war-ship. A few resolute men 
who held the secret could rule the world and bring your em- 
perors and prime ministers cringing to their feet.** 

Gerald regarded his companion very seriously, and was 
about to speak, when the steward’s tea-bell ended the con- 
versation. 

The least tedious method of reaching Loen is by water. 
Lestrus, for reasons of his own, took Gerald for the latter 
part of the journey by an overland route, which, while being 
shorter as to distance, was far longer in the matter of time, a 
fact which he kept to himself. His companion had not proved 
so pliable as he had anticipated. The longer, therefore, the 
journey could be drawn out the better. 

One lovely morning the two friends journeyed in the Nor- 
wegian steamer Ko77ima7idoren out from the beautiful but 
muggy, windless harbour of quaint old Bergen, up the west 
coast. Gerald was enchanted with the scenery, which looked 
its best under a very lovely effect caused by the stillness of 
the air, and bright, fleecy clouds partly covering the pale blue 
sky. Each dark mountain was reflected from base to summit 
in the calm water, on which played silvery grey and ever- 


164 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT, 


varying lights. Masses of vapour hung about the mountain 
summits, and the hollows were veiled with soft, white mist. 
Here and there sun rays peeped through, sweeping warm, 
yellow lights over the low-lying verdure, and illuminating 
peak and pinnacle of the higher rocks. 

Suddenly Gerald uttered an exclamation. In turning a 
little promontory, they came upon a ship of ages long past, 
lying placidly, its huge square sail upheld by a heavy mast 
right in the centre of the vessel, swaying gently to and fro. 
Was it some vessel of classic times, a Roman galley under sail, 
or a Viking war-ship ? Gerald rubbed his eyes. Was he 
dreaming ? Lestrus explained the mystery. She was one of 
the northern vessels which bring timber to the south after the 
ice breaks up in the spring, and was homeward bound. That 
had been the build for centuries. 

On they went, threading their way among islands, past 
miniature quays where boats high of prow and stern lay 
moored ; past tiny, wooden, red-roofed homesteads, each sur- 
rounded with a few irregular fields, alder bushes and moun- 
tain ash springing from the short sweet grass, kept neat as 
any English park. Sleek black and white and fawn and white 
cows clambered among the rocks close to the shore, some 
burying themselves breast-high in the water to defraud the 
flies of biting space. Here and there were patches of grain, 
still green, and hay was being made on the mountain sides. 

On a sun- warmed rock close to the water’s edge lay a little 
lamb basking, unknowing yet in the ways of dampskibets , 
While it lifted its gentle head to gaze at the invaders the wave 
which followed after the steamer, the channel being narrow, 
curled over it and sent it indignantly skipping up the moun- 
tain side. 

The scene changed. The mountains receded into distant 
haze, and the steamer entered a land of a thousand isles, 
heather, bracken, moss, and grasses varying the monotony of 
the grey rock. In the calm lagoons among the islands the 
white clouds were reflected as in a silvered glass. A seagull 


LESTRUS ARRIVA DREAMS, 1 65 

flying before the steamer had its double, which seemed to be 
travelling, feet uppermost, through the dead, smooth water. 
In a quiet bay swam a brood of wild-ducks, each bird leaving 
a silvery V-shaped trail behind it as it retreated ; but the tim- 
orous things took flight, the steamer coming too near, and 
alighted with great flustering splash a quarter of a mile ahead, 
near where a porpoise rolled from time to time with loud 
blowings. The country here was too bare and desolate to 
support human life. Thus had it been for centuries; thus 
was it when the Vikings of the North raided Britain. 

Soon the steamer turned into the mouth of the great Sogne 
Fjord, and farm-houses again came in sight on the sides of the 
mountains which closed in that great arm of the sea. 

Lestrus and Gerald had proposed to leave the Kommandoren 
at the head of a little tributary fjord on the northern shore, 
and thus make their way overland to the Nord Fjord. But by 
some mistake they were carried on to Vadheim, thirty miles 
beyond their intended stopping-point. It was then four in 
the afternoon. Lestrus was for awaiting the outward-bound 
steamer touching there two days later. Gerald, impatient and 
masterful, insisted on a boat then and there. 

After an hour’s delay the obliging landlord of the little 
hotel obtained them a crew of four sturdy rorcarlers^ and de- 
spatched them in a good, roomy craft. A wild undertaking 
this, commencing a thirty miles journey by water at five in 
the evening. But August days are long in Norway, and did 
not every stroke of the oars bring them, or one of them, 
nearer to Ina ? At least, so thought Gerald. As a matter of 
fact, having reached Vadheim, the direct route lay inland; 
but Lestrus, as I have suggested, probably aimed at delaying 
the meeting with friends. Gerald had previously expressed a 
wish to see something of wild life at a mountain farm. Well, 
he should be obliged. 

Closed in on all sides, naught showing but blue sky and a 
great blazing ball of fire, which turned Vadheim into a hot, 
steamy oven, all seemed fair enough ; but rounding the point 


i66 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT. 


and entering the big fjord, dark clouds lying on summits to 
the southward came in view. The Storm King was abroad 
that evening, and in no amiable mood. 

^‘Rain?” asked Gerald. 

‘^No, I tink thunderer,'^ said the stroke oar, who had a 
few words of English. 

Soon there were low rumblings, and little forked tongues 
of flame played among the distant storm clouds. Over five 
different mountain tops was the electric fluid discharging. 
The storms moved inland, but clung to the opposite side of 
the fjord, where the atmosphere grew thicker and thicker. 
The men began to row more rapidly. 

Where is there shelter, should we need it ?’’ asked Lestrus, 
in Norwegian. 

A half mile ahead,’* answered Ola, the stroke. 

The thunder grew louder ; the storms had now travelled up 
the fjord to a point almost opposite the boat. The men 
rowed harder than ever. Presently the clouds seemed to 
lower, and the mountains were completely hidden from sight. 
The thunder rolled and rattled like the constant discharge of 
musketry. The gloomy veil which hid the mountains grad- 
ually grew nearer and nearer. One of these wild storms was 
travelling across the fjord towards them, a white line of foam 
marking where it touched the leaden water. The musketry 
gave way to the roar of big guns. A few large rain drops 
fell about the anxious people in the boat. How the men 
rowed ! Still nearer and nearer the cloud crept on, illumined 
every instant by the flaming lightning. The hissing of water 
could be plainly heard through the thunder. The storm was 
upon them. 

‘‘Round !” cried Ola, in Norwegian. “ Pull, pull !” 

The boat turned sharply into a tiny shallow bay, fifty yards 
deep at the most. At the end of it was a wooden boat-stage, 
and trending to the shore a small, neatly-kept garden, in which 
stood a pretty wooden house with red tiled roof. 

There was a howl of wind down the fjord. The rain fell 


LESTRUS ARRIVA DREAMS, 


167 


from the clouds, seeming one solid sheet of water. The 
thunder roared all round them, the lightning flashed inces- 
santly. They landed, and ran to the house — the men to some 
out-buildings at the rear, Lestrus and Gerald to the centre 
door, where stood a tall, thin, soldier-like man, who welcomed 
them. Even as he showed them into a room scantily fur- 
nished, but pleasant to the eye by its very simplicity, there 
came a blinding flash of light, and a crash more terrible than 
anything yet caused the house to shake to its foundations. A 
second later water came pouring through the ceiling as if no 
roof existed. 

The house had been struck. 

Their host ran out, but could do nothing in the storm. The 
wooden building was not on fire ; that was something. The 
rain had saved it. With pale faces they stood there waiting 
for they knew not what. Gradually the thunder grew less 
loud, the lightning less intense. The old man returned to the 
room with his wife. 

‘‘It will pass away in a few minutes,*’ he said. “I will 
order supper for you.” 

The air grew lighter, the thunder more and more distant. 
As the rumblings died away in soft reverberations among the 
mountains, the clouds cleared, blue sky appeared, and lo ! the 
sun shone out on the drenched land. 

Lestrus and Gerald partook of their good friend’s hospitality 
— poached eggs, rye bread and white bread, raw smoked sal- 
mon in thin slices, Gruyere cheese, and gammel osf, or ancient 
cheese — most ancient, brown and odoriferous, hidden with 
propriety under a close-fitting cover, whence slices were taken 
furtively with quick unliftings and replacements. 

After the food had been arranged on the table, the broad- 
shouldered female servant sat down with them. Their host, 
so it turned out, was a retired captain of the Norwegian army. 

"'“Fancy, if you can,” said Lestrus, with grim humour, “a 
\etired officer of the Blues supping with his general servant !” 


i68 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT. 


Gerald would have pushed on, but the men flatly refused to 
fare farther that night. The captain had beds of hay for all 
six of them. Hospitality seemed second nature to him and 
his good wife. 

Before the beds were made ready the captain had the hole 
in the roof stopped. That was only due to his property. 
Fresh tiles were at hand. Fie gave his friends to understand 
that thunder-storms were rife in Sogne, and one had to be 
prepared for little emergencies of the kind. 

See/^ said Lestrus ere they slept, how goodness of heart, 
poverty, and happiness go hand in hand in this country. Here 
among these mountains are no laws 

‘^Surely there are,” protested Gerald. 

^^No means of enforcing them, no police, no soldiers. It 
is the same thing. Yet order prevails, crime is unknown. 
Crowd these people in cities, make some rich, others poor, 
with laws and police to enforce the privileges of the former, 
and injustice and crime will spring up at once. Or centre a 
few square miles of this fair land in the hands of one idle man 
who lives in luxury on the earnings of agriculturists, who again 
make fortunes out of the sweat of ill-paid toilers. Will they 
not be discontented?” 

‘‘Then it is not progress but retrogression we should advo- 
cate, if you are right ?’ ’ said Gerald. 

“Liberty involves the destruction of governments,” an- 
swered Lestrus. “ They have begun well here. Hereditary 
titles were abolished more than half a century ago.” 

“I can’t imagine liberty without law,” said Gerald. “If 
these people among the mountains had not their rights to their 
farms, and grazings secured to them by law, wouldn’t the 
stronger soon seize the lands of the weak ?’ ’ 

“ No ; in the absence of law, or the violence which enforces 
it, men would become virtuous, and the strong would respect 
the moral claims of the weak.” 

“I doubt it,” said Gerald, yawning. “According to his- 
tory, human nature seems to have been much about the same 


PUCK INTERVENES, 


169 


in all ages. But it’s too big a subject to discuss to-night. An 
early start to-morrow, mind.” And in five minutes he was 
sleeping soundly in one of the all too short wooden boxes which 
serve as beds in Norway. 

Little did either of these twain foresee the awful tragedy 
which would result from that one night’s delay. 

Long before daybreak Lestrus awoke Gerald with a scream. 

Good heavens ! What’s the matter?” 

‘‘ The hand of ice !” 

What do you mean ? You must be dreaming.” 

A huge hand of ice seemed to force me back, always back, 
opposing me whichever way I turned. ’ ’ 

Pooh ! it was the raw salmon. Good-night.” 


XVIIL 

PUCK INTERVENES. 

Yes, yes, I know no finer or more exhilarating form of 
exercise than to sit under the shady verandah of a Norwegian 
hotel, overlooking a lovely lake enclosed by mountains, and to 
watch a strong man making the ascent of some precipitous 
rock during the noontide heat.” 

Mogers, the speaker, who had been asked his opinion on 
mountaineering, and thus ventured one of his few standing 
witticisms, was a short, thin-faced, sandy- whiskered man, 
dressed in a rusty old tweed suit. He and several ladies, Ger- 
ald, and Lestrus Arriva, were sitting on deck-chairs in the front 
portico of the hotel at Nedre Vassenden. In front of them 
stretched out the beautiful Jolster Vand, with the fine moun- 
tains around Skei rising up in the distance. 

From an upper balcony certain unoccupied fishermen — the 
sun shining brightly, the water unruffled — were dropping odds 
and ends on Paul, the peaceful, brown, long-bodied, short- 
legged dog of the hotel. Each article, whether pipe, keys, or 
H 15 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT, 


170 

pen-knife, Paul gravely took up, chewed for a few seconds, 
and then deposited between his white paws. Finally, a piece 
of cobbler’s wax descended, striking him on the nose. This 
he likewise chewed, with deplorable results, and more in sor- 
row than anger crawled down the steps, and, with jaws stuck 
together, hid himself in a cow-shed. Meanwhile, one of the 
sunned-out anglers experimentally affixed a bedroom fire-escape 
to the balcony, and let himself down all too quickly, sprawling 
on to the steps ; and Paul was avenged. 

“Yes, yes, Norwegian mountain air makes our English 
youth frivolous,” said Mogers, still watching with interest a 
small party of hotel visitors ascending the mountain side. 

Gerald and Lestrus were well on their journey. They had 
spent two days in a wild mountain district, sleeping at farms 
where many of the good folk had never before seen an English 
face. They had been watched at their meals by the family 
standing round in semicircle, much as we show our interest 
in the bears or lions at the Zoo. They had slept on hay in 
wooden boxes, fed on jiadbrod, trout, and sour porridge. 
Gerald had noted the careful farming, the happy, contented 
family life, the untrammelled land system, and independence 
of the people. He had taken much to heart, at least to that 
very small portion of his heart which was not filled by Ina. 
The journey seemed, and was, thanks to Lestrus, slow and 
tedious, but at last he hoped they were fairly on the way to 
Loen. 

Then they met Mogers. Who, having visited Norway, 
does not know this parasitical personage — useful or otherwise 
according to circumstances? Mogers, the man of much ad- 
vice, whose talk is ever of steam-boats (he calls them damp- 
skibets), new routes, and stolkjaerres ; Mogers, who has raised 
travelling in Norway at ‘nothing a day to the level of a fine 
art ; Mogers, tail or head, as you please, of any party to 
which he can attach himself. Speak to him, and before you 
are half through the first sentence, “Yes, yes, yes,” he will 
break in, “I know; you must take the steamer at Vik; it 


PUCK INTERVENES. 


171 

leaves at five on Thursday. Tm going that way myself. Til 
come with you. You’ve got a spare seat in your stolkjaerre, ” 
etc., etc. 

Unfortunate Mogers, afflicted with this burning love of 
travel, and poor as the proverbial church mouse ! People flee 
from steam-boats and hotels when they hear your ‘‘Yes, yes, 
yes,” as you attack new arrivals, armed with a deadly 
Baedeker or Murray, a padded black cloth covering hiding 
the familiar red, making it look like an innocent prayer-book. 

In a weak moment Mogers once told how a quarrel over pap 
defrauded him of a fortune. Grandmothers have old-fash- 
ioned ideas as to the feeding of infants. Young mothers study 
hygiene. 

“ The baby shall have pap,” said the grandmother. 

“ He shall have cream and water,” replied her son’s wife — 
Mogers’ mamma. 

“ Then he has none of my money.” 

And so Mogers lost ;^5,ooo a year. 

There is an incident of child-life which the Independent 
Gentleman relates with much relish, though it savours strongly 
of that “Times” devoted to sport — and other matters. Of 
its origin nothing is definitely known. But without much 
doubt it was based on an old Egyptian scandal disseminated 
during the reign of Rameses III. This is its modern form : 

A new boy saved from London slums and boarded out in a 
country village, was asked in Sunday-school who was Moses’s 
mother. 

“Pharoah’s daughter,” he replied. 

“Nay, she found him in the bulrushes,” was the gentle 
reproof of the mild curate. 

“ That’s what she said,” retorted the incredulous lad. 

And we may be equally sceptical as to the loss of Mogers’ s 
inheritance. 

Now, though it must be admitted that the amateur courier’s 
misfortunes have little to do with our story, the fact remains 
that Gerald met Mogers at Vassenden, and showed a very 


172 


ZADV VAVS ELOPEMENT. 


great amount of interest in this not very interesting personage. 
Can you guess the reason ? No ? Why, Mogers was warm, 
nay red hot, from Loen ! 

Gerald for some time vainly tried to get the information he 
wanted. 

‘ ‘ When you were at Loen you ' ' 

‘‘Yes, yes, yes, we went to the glacier, of course. It’s a 
mile’s drive from the hotel, fare’s two krone, and then you 
take the ” 

“ I meant to ask you about ” 

“Yes, yes, yes. Olden. It’s a delightful trip, most lovely 
scenery. The steamer goes there from Loen every morning. ’ ’ 

“ Did you see ” 

“Yes, yes, yes, we saw it all, except the mountain, which 
is too rough for ponies. You should go on to Visnaes; the 
new road is ” 

“No! NO I NO!” cried Gerald, wrathful, after sundry 
other futile attempts at interrogating this trying witness. “ I 
don’t want any guide-book information at all. Do, for good- 
ness’ sake, listen to what I want to ask you !” 

“Yes, yes, yes,” began Mogers, who was case hardened, 
owing to frequent and well-aimed snubs. 

“ Stop ! What I want to know is, who was in the hotel at 
Loen when you left it ?’ ’ 

“A lot of girls and boys, all flirting together, and talking 
and acting in the maddest way. The place was like a bear 
garden. One of them told me I was poisonous !” 

This novel form of insult had apparently penetrated Mo- 
gers’ s thick skin. After all, it was rather unmeaning to one 
who was not of the Shaitanic brother and sisterhood. Gerald 
felt little the better pleased now he had his answer. 

“ Do you remember the names of any of them ?” he asked. 

“Yes, yes; the most decent people there were a Mrs. 
Hutchinson and her brother; and there was a Scotchman 
named, or nicknamed, MacMeekin, I don’t know which. I 
saw two ladies with daughters, and there was a quiet man 


PUCK INTERVENES, 


173 


named White, and with him an impudent young scamp they 
called The Boy. Dearlove, I think, was his name. He was 
always with a Miss Springbrook 

‘^How soon can we leave here? Which is the quickest 
way ?’ ’ cried Gerald, starting up, and sending his deck-chair 
flying. 

‘‘Yes, yes, yes, I can tell you. Don’t wait for the steamer, 
but get stalkjaerres and drive to Skei. You must stop there 
to-night, and go on to-morrow by the new road to Sandene. 
You’ll get a steamer from there to Loen the following morn- 
ing. I’m thinking of going to Sandene myself. If you have 
an extra stalkjaerre iox your luggage. I’ll come with ” 

But Gerald was out of hearing, and away to his friend, who 
was leaning over the wooden bridge which crossed the roaring 
river at the outfall of the lake. 

“ Lestrus, you told me we couldn’t leave until the steam- 
boat called to-morrow. Mogers says we can drive to Skei. I 
want to go on at once.” 

Lestrus excused his mistake. 

Within a quarter of an hour they were on the road. 

Few make quite the most of their opportunities, and Gerald 
was no exception to the rule. A day or two before his depart- 
ure for Bergen, he suddenly awoke to the fact that he was in 
a position to send messages of unlimited length through the 
electric cable without having to meet gaunt poverty face to 
face. 

The first cablegram drafted by our ardent lover contained 
warm words of affection. Then, remembering that various 
clerks would peruse it, he tore it up, and contented himself 
with giving sundry items of news, including the fact that he 
was on his way to visit his well-beloved. It was well he did 
this, as his messages, which he soon sent almost daily, after 
being transferred from wire to wire, were finally shouted, 
much mangled, and in broken English, through the telephone 
from Visnaes to Loen. Ina had to stand on a box with her 

IS* 


174 


ZADY VAVS ELOPEMENT, 


pretty ear to the receiver, and pouting lips to the transmitter, 
and might often be heard plaintively asking the speaker to 
repeat, speak lower, more distinctly, and so forth. 

One morning she was called to the telephone, and, instead 
of hearing ‘‘ Shall be with you soon ; all well,^^ or some other 
pleasant message of that kind, a voice, in which an Irish ac- 
cent was plainly distinguishable, asked anxiously if any gen- 
tleman at Loen was in a position to send over a bottle of 
whisky by the steamer to a gentleman at Visnaes, in which 
place there were no spirits whatever. Great was the Irish 
gentleman’s amazement and indignation to have for his reply 
a peal of silvery laughter, and then silence, until, Herre 
Markus being summoned, an elaborate explanation was made 
that, according to the laws of Norway, whisky could not be 
provided in hotels. 

How Ina longed for a private wire, with herself and Gerald 
as operators at either end ! 

Whenever Gerald and Lestrus passed a telegraph station on 
their travels, they halted, and a wire was sent to FrokeUy 
Springbrook, 

Gerald despatched the last message from Vassenden a few 
hours before the meeting with Mogers. Being under the im- 
pression that he could not leave until the following day, he 
unwittingly misled Ina as to the time of their arrival, and 
landed on the little stone pier at Loen some twenty-four 
hours before he was expected. 

There was a burst of warm sunshine that morning, and most 
of the party at Loen took advantage of it to make a long- 
talked-of expedition to the top of Shaala, or, to write it pho- 
netically, Sholar, the great snow-capped mountain which 
dominates the valley. Lady Val did not join them, wishing 
to finish a water-colour sketch in the birch woods. Ina re- 
mained with her, partly to avoid The Boy, whose attentions 
had become rather marked, and partly to practise sketching. 

The two ladies strolled through the birch woods with their 


PUCK INTERVENES, 


175 


camp-stools, light easels, and other sketching impedimenta, 
leaving Father Christmas asleep in the verandah, a red pocket- 
handkerchief guarding his silvery head from the flies. Cap- 
tain Haulyard and Colonel Tiffin, who regard mountaineering 
as a vain and foolish thing, had gallantly escorted the elder 
ladies of the party to Olden to view scenery which had re- 
cently been sanctified, in their opinion, by a visit from the 
German Emperor. 

Lady Val’s subject was at some little distance from the 
hotel — a few mossy boulders, silver birches with stems curi- 
ously gnarled by the severe Norwegian winter, a peep of the 
shining blue fjord, a river leaping from rock to rock down a 
smiling valley, and glacier-bearing mountains in the distance. 
An ambitious picture for an amateur ! 

She had chosen for her pupil a more simple subject about 
fifty yards distant — one of those tiny rustic hay huts roofed 
with birch bark overlaid with green turf, on which grew fern 
and even a seedling ash ; bracken in the foreground, and a 
simple distance of mountains. 

‘‘ There, my dear, I will leave you for half an hour to see 
what you can do by yourself; then 1^11 come and set you 
right,” said Lady Val. 

Ina began roughing in an outline, but soon her pencil ceased 
travelling over the paper. Gerald’s coming to-morrow, 
Gerald’s coming to-morrow,” kept running in her ears. 
What should she wear? That memorable day in the or- 
chard, when he paid his first visit to Revelsbury, he had ad- 
mired her in pink, but she would keep her pink bodice for 
the evening. Yes, the heather-mixture tweed dress would be 
best for the morning, but none of her hats suited it quite. But 
why should she wear a hat at all ? Yes, she would run down to 
the quay and welcome him bareheaded ; he had often praised 
her hair. Would he be changed now he was a great man in 
the world ? she wondered. Would he think more of dash- 
ing Louisa Legge or pretty Milly Blisse than of her ? What a 
pleasant surprise she had for him, for surely that letter she 


176 


LADY VADS ELOPEMENT. 


received yesterday from Fox & Preyer meant that someone 
had left her a little legacy — something to her advantage’' — 
what else could it mean ? Well, she had answered the letter, 
and would make a little secret of it until she discovered what 
that something to her advantage was. She might have a 
dowry after all. Who could it 

‘‘Why, Ina! you have hardly done a stroke. Can’t you 
,get on?” said Lady Val, who had strolled up behind her, and 
was looking over her shoulder. 

Ina blushed a guilty blush, and said she did find it rather 
difficult to get on that morning. 

“Well, dear, do the outline of the hay-house first; that’s 
easy. Mine’s coming out awfully nice,” and Lady Val again 
left her. 

She commenced to draw, but soon re-entered the land of 
day dreams. Her pencil fell from her hand unheeded. A 
fawn and white lemming trotted across the green sward, and 
stopped and looked up at her curiously. 

There was a crackle of breaking twigs and the rustle of 
leaves. The lemming ran off affrighted. A man pushed his 
way out of the woods and stepped on to the little clear- 
ing. 

Ina looked up, her mind so full of her lover that for the 
moment she thought it was he. A rosy flush suffused her 
cheeks, the sweet violet eyes sparkled, her whole face was 
radiant. 

Young Dearlove had never seen a more beautiful picture in 
his life, and he took the bright, smiling, but fleeting glance to 
himself, knowing nothing of Gerald. 

While ascending the mountain, he had spied Ina on the 
clearing, made an excuse, and hurried back. After the pair 
had been thrown together for some weeks the girl’s coldness 
had worn off, for who could resist the advances of this sunny, 
open-faced youth? With quick, womanly perception she had 
grown to be almost certain that he regarded her with senti- 
ments somewhat warmer than those of mere friendship, and 


PUCK INTERVENES. 


177 


hitherto had been most careful to avoid being alone with him. 
They had been as merry boy and girl together, that was all. 
As for love or even flirtation there was none. There was one 
man alone in the world she cared for — Gerald. 

Ina's face clouded over as she recognised the arrival. 
Should she call Lady Val ? That would be silly. Should she 
go to her ? Perhaps best not, for Mr. Dearlove might imagine 
from her attempt to avoid him she had learnt the state of his 
feelings, and that would never do. 

‘‘It was really too hot to go up the mountain,’^ said The 
Boy. 

“ It would be cool enough on the top.” 

“Yes, but the getting there ! I found no one in the hotel, 
except Father Christmas, so came on here.” 

“You are very lazy.” 

“ Why, I was up at six this morning !” 

“ Oh, really ! You will find Mrs. Hutchinson over there,” 
and Ina sketched on vigorously, regardless of perspective and 
shading in the wrong places. 

“ I didn’t catch anything.” 

“Oh!” 

“You know, we gave up racing to be first at the pools in 
the morning, and took to drawing lots for them. I drew the 
best pool last night, and when I got there this morning found 
Father Christmas bathing in it. I know he did it on purpose.” 

“ He wouldn’t bathe by accident !” 

“ Did you hear about Ganymede?” 

“No. I wish you would tell Mrs. Hutchinson I want her.” 

“ But I want to tell you about Ganymede. He went a long 
way off, fishing yesterday by himself, hooked a fly in the back 
of his coat where he couldn’t reach it, and came all the way 
back to the hotel — ^just three miles — for someone to take it 
out.” 

“Well?” 

“ Don’t you see?” 

“ Yes, he came back to the hotel.” 


m 


178 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT. 


‘^But he might have taken off his coat and pulled it out 
himself without stirring a yard.” 

‘‘ He isn’t a very clever young man. You really ought to 
go and see Mrs. Hutchinson’s sketch. It’s so charming !” 

‘‘I like yours best,” and he threw himself on the grass by 
her side. 

That’s silly. You haven’t even seen the other.” 

‘‘ I like everything you do.” 

Ina said nothing; but maybe her heart began to beat a 
little faster. 

‘‘ I like you. I declare you are the jolliest, sweetest girl 
I ” 

Ina rose. 

‘‘I must go to Mrs. Hutchinson.” 

The Boy seized both her hands and scrambled up on his 
knees. 

Don’t go,” he said. ‘‘ I must tell you ; I love you !” 

Ina looked round, hoping that Lady Val was within sight, 
and uttered a little cry. 

‘‘I am sorry I interrupt you, Miss Springbrook. ” 

It was a harsh, unnatural, strained voice. With face pale 
as death, and steadying himself, one hand resting on the side 
of the hay hut, stood Gerald. 

The men gazed at one another, Dearlove amazed at the ap- 
parition, Gerald indignant, raging. This then was the result 
of the year of waiting which had been intended to try 
hhn ! 

‘‘ By Jove, she’s fainted !” exclaimed Dearlove. Quick ! 
you’ll find some water over there by that rock. I’ll fetch Mrs. 
Hutchinson.” 

A minute later, when Lady Val and Dearlove came running 
towards the poor girl, Gerald still stood in the same position, 
but trembled as if with ague. The shock was almost greater 
than he, strong man as he was, could bear. 

‘‘What does it mean? Who’s that man?” asked Lady 
Val, hurriedly, in a whisper. 


PUCK INTERVENES, 


179 


don’t know,” exclaimed The Boy, pettishly, 
got no water. What can I do?” 

Lady Val loosened Ina’s dress at the neck, and slapped the 
palms of her hands. Presently the girl opened her eyes. 

Gerald !” she said. 

‘‘You don’t want me any more, Mrs. Hutchinson. I think 
I will go,” said The Boy. 

His name was not Gerald. 

“ She will be all right in a minute or two, I think. What 
made her faint?” 

“That fellow came up suddenly,” said Dearlove, turning 
his head. “ Oh ! he’s gone !” 

“ What did he say?” 

“ Sorry to interrupt, or something of that kind, and then 
she went off like that.” 

“ Oh ! do send him away. He has made such trouble ! 
Oh ! such trouble ! ’ ’ 

It was Ina speaking. The girl knelt up, laid her head on 
Lady Val’s shoulder, and burst into tears. 

“ What does it all mean ?” cried Lady Val, much perplexed, 
with her arm round Ina. “ What have you done, Mr. Dear- 
love?” 

“ I had hold of her hand,” faltered The Boy, half ashamed. 
“I do love her so, and I never had a chance to tell her 
before.” 

“And Gerald saw it,” said Ina, speaking through her sobs. 

Lady Val pondered a moment. Suddenly she turned to The 
Boy. 

“Find that gentleman who was here, and explain it all to 
him. You have made the most terrible mischief. They 
were as good as engaged. I don’t blame you ; you didn’t 
know. I fear Mr. Kingley may leave Loen at once. For 
Heaven’s sake hurry after him and undo the harm you have 
done, if you can.” 

“I’ll do my level best, Mrs. Hutchinson,” said The Boy, 
very earnestly, and he ran off swiftly. 


i8o 


LADY VADS ELOPEMENT. 


XIX. 

PUCK IS VERY ACTIVE. 

Hot and panting, Gerald found himself at the hotel. How 
he reached it he never knew. He met Lestrus on the steps of 
the verandah, and stared at him stupidly. 

You found your friends?’^ 

N-no. All a mistake. Let’s go on — yes, push on to the 
next hotel.” 

Lestrus, who for some days must have suspected there was 
a woman in the case, one who might possibly interfere with 
his plans, made no objection. 

I will inquire when the steamer starts,” he said. 

He left Gerald standing alone in the verandah, gazing out 
gloomily over the bay to the dark pine woods beyond. 

A minute later, Dearlove ran up, very much out of breath. 

I say !” he gasped out ; I have something to say to yoii.” 

Gerald turned his back on him angrily. 

Don’t go ; you’ll be sorry if you do. I ” 

Gerald strode down the steps, and away towards the fjord. 
It was beyond bearing to be tormented with the apologies of 
this fellow who had stolen away his love. 

The Boy rushed after him and seized him by the arm. 

You shall hear me. There’s some awful mistake. You 
have nothing to be angry about.” 

‘‘Nothing?” 

“ Well, not very much. I only held her hand an instant.” 

“Is that nothing? I tell you, sir, I don’t want you. I 
won’t speak with you,” and Gerald, infuriated, wrenched 
himself away. 

“I say you shall !” exclaimed The Boy, excitedly. “You 
are treating her unfairly. You can’t blame her because I love 
her. She loves you, and not me ; it’s as clear as a pike-staff, 
only you’re so damned obstinate and won’ t see it I” 

“I heard of it all before I came here, and saw you making 


PUCK IS VERY ACTIVE, 


i8i 


love to her!’^ exclaimed Gerald, positively, as if there was 
nothing more to be said, and still striding rapidly on. 

‘‘Yes, I know you did ; but she wouldn’t have anything to 
say to me. She had been trying to get rid of me for half an 
hour before you came up, only I wouldn’t go.” 

“ Oh, generous Boy !” 

“Why, she’s more quiet than any of the others,” he con- 
tinued ; “ never flirts, and always sticks close to Mrs. Hutchin- 
son ; never even lets a fellow have a chance. I was going up 
the mountain to-day, and looking round, saw her alone in the 
distance, and went back just to tell her I loved her, and see 
if I was in the running.” 

Gerald slackened his speed a little. At last a few of the 
words uttered by Dearlove, who was half walking, half trot- 
ting, by his side, seemed to reach his brain. 

“ She refused you, did she?” he asked, sternly. 

Was there after all a faint gleam of hope for him ? 

“ It’s as true as true can be !” said The Boy, evading the 
question, for Gerald had appeared on the clearing before Ina 
had time to even remonstrate with her new suitor. “Ask 
Mrs. Hutchinson if it isn’t.” 

Gerald stopped, and sat down among the fern on the bank 
by the side of the path, buried his head in his hands, and en- 
deavoured to pull himself together to consider the subject 
sanely. For a full minute neither spoke. Then — 

“Sit down,” said he, “and tell me everything — every- 
thing, mind !” 

An hour later they returned to the hotel. The Boy in a 
mixed mood of jubilation and regret, the wildness and anger 
gone from Gerald’s face. 

Lady Val was anxiously awaiting them. 

“ Has he told you? But I forget ; you don’t know me. I 
am Lady — Mrs. Hutchinson.” 

“ It’s all right !” exclaimed Dearlove. “ I said I’d do my 
level best, and I’ve done it.” 

I6 


i 82 


LADY FADS ELOPEMENT, 


Where is Ina?’’ asked Gerald, eagerly. 

‘‘ Come with me.** She led him into the salon. ^‘Now, 
stay here. I will not keep you long waiting. Ah ! Mr. 
Kingley, you sadly misjudged the poor child. She thinks of 
you night and day ; no girl could be truer.** 

He was left in the empty room. Dearlove had discreetly 
disappeared. For a few minutes, which seemed hours, he 
waited, pacing to and fro. A door opened and closed. Jna, 
wearing the pretty pink bodice, her dainty little face bearing 
a pitiful smile, her long lashes wet with recent tears, was with 
him. He held out his arms, and she ran to him. 

A half hour later they were interrupted by Lestrus Arriva. 

‘‘ Oh ! I beg your pardon. There’s a special steamer to- 
day in an hour’s time.** 

‘‘I have changed my mind,** said Gerald, and Lestrus 
tried to look pleased, but signally failed. 


Alas ! more troubles were in store for our pair of lovers, 
and an observation taken during the afternoon by that good 
creature, Anna, the Little Sweetheart of the Shaitans, must 
be noted in relation thereto. 

While in London, Gerald had received a letter — an appeal to 

My Dear Sir,** — a certain well-known marquis writing from 
his private address on thick vellum-like note-paper headed 
with a gold coronet, on behalf of a hospital which had happened 
upon bad times. Only a close inspection revealed the fact 
that the letter was lithographed, but beyond question it was 
signed at first hand by the marquis. Gerald showed the 
document to Lestrus. 

‘‘ It*s strange he should write to me, for I never met him in 
my life,** said he, simply. 

His companion smiled sardonically. 

As a general rule,*’ he said, it is unjustifiable to appeal 
to the baser tendencies of man ; but here is an instance of 


PUCK IS VERY ACTIVE. 


183 


middle -class snobbery being put to noble uses. Hundreds of 
British snobs will give when solicited by a noble, who would 
refuse a commoner. The hospital benefits. * * 

Gerald was not a snob, but called at the hospital, saw for 
himself that it was being starved, and left a check the size of 
which fairly amazed the secretary, and caused him to see this 
noble benefactor to the door hat in hand. Most unfortunately, 
as it afterwards fell out, the ‘‘ noble benefactor^’ happened to 
make some notes relative to his trip to Norway on the front 
page of the coronetted letter, tore off the half sheet, and 
flung it into his portmanteau. When tidying up his room, 
Anna’s watchful eye, roaming over the polished pine dressing- 
table, chanced to see the paper, and thereon built a theory. 
She did not read the fragment, having no meanness in her 
composition, but the golden coronet set her thinking. She 
had heard of the pseudonymic duke. He was now overdue. 
Coronets were indicative of correspondence with titled per- 
sons. Might not this new visitor be he ? At that moment 
Gerald strolled by the window with Ina, bearing himself 
proudly as a happy lover should, and looking as if half the 
world belonged to him. 

It is he,” thought Anna. 

The Olden party returned about seven o’clock. Anna was 
summoned to perform certain little offices for the ladies. She 
imparted her suspicions to Mrs. Legge, who at once started off 
to tell Mrs. Blisse, but thought better of it. Anna next said 
a word or two on the subject to Mrs. Blisse, who began to 
amble down the passage to Mrs. Legge’ s room, but changed 
her mind. Another elderly lady, also with daughters, was in- 
formed ; she acted in much the same eccentric manner. 

There were thus three elderly ladies, all with marriageable 
daughters, and happy in the belief that each of them separately 
and solely had pierced the identity of a duke travelling incog- 
nito. All of them, too, having in mind that young people’s 
hearts are inflammable, dukes being no exception to this rule, 
and that when thrown together in a Norwegian hotel where 


i84 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT. 


spirits run high (the Gothenberg system notwithstanding) there 
is no knowing what may happen. 

During the long sweet converse which the two lovers en- 
joyed that afternoon among the silver birch woods, Ina made 
it clear to Gerald that she intended to adhere to her former 
decision. There was to be no formal engagement until the 
probationary year was past, and perhaps it might be best if 
nothing was said on the subject to any of the people in the 
hotel. A word would suffice to silence Dearlove, who in any 
event would not be likely to dilate upon the position of affairs. 

With much good taste. The Boy was absent from the even- 
ing meal. Having made a raid on the kitchen and filled his 
canvas fishing-bag with cold ryper, wheaten bread, and deli- 
cate Norwegian rusks with marmalade in layers — not a bad 
repast for a disappointed lover — he had taken his rod and gone 
to spend the remaining hours of daylight by the river. He was 
rewarded by a six-pound sea-trout ; but, poor youth ! his joy 
at allaying the storm he had raised was all gone, and had given 
place to an attack of melancholy. 

It is not very pleasant to be refused of a girl and have to 
place her within the arms of her chosen lover, all within the 
short space of eighty minutes. But, lest sympathetic hearts 
are wrung overmuch, let it be placed on record that by break- 
fast-time the next morning the unfortunate young man had 
quite recovered from his indisposition. 


At the meal of mixed character — tea, dinner, supper, more 
or less in combination, which is served in most Norwegian 
hotels about seven o’clock in the evening, Mrs. Legge seated 
herself next Gerald, Lady Val closing him in on the other 
side. Ina, who came down a minute late, sat pouting at 
the lower end of the table. She soon caught Gerald’s eye, 
and then what a pleased raising of the finely-pencilled 
brown eyebrows, what tender smile and sweet glance, from 


PUCK IS VERY ACTIVE. 185 

the violet eyes ! Mrs. Legge did not see Cupid’s telegraphic 
despatch. 

The conversation first turned to the scenery in the Olden 
Valley. 

In what respect is it so exquisitely beautiful?” said Lady 

Val. 

‘‘Why,” cried Mrs. Blisse, enthusiastically, “we saw the 
rock on which the Kaiser had lunch !” 

Meanwhile, Mrs. Legge was taking stock of Gerald. 

“A very noble face,” she thought. “ Quite a patrician !” 

“Are you fond of travelling ?” she asked. 

“Yes, in Norway.” 

“ The villages are very interesting.” 

“Yes, most interesting to me.” 

“Ah! I daresay you are a fisherman like all the others 
here?” 

Artful Mrs. Legge ! 

“ No,” answered Gerald. “I have heard that an eel is a 
fish which swallows the hook down to its tail, twists up the 
line and a few inches of the top of the rod, and there, I fear, 
my knowledge of angling begins and ends.” 

Mrs. Legge tried again. 

“ What do you think of the farming system here?” 

“ Well, I am only beginning to know a little about it ; but 
it must be good, for all the people seem well off, though not 
rich, and they are so very contented and happy. Do you 
know, I have not heard a single child cry since we landed at 
Bergen.” 

“That’s one reason which brought me to Norway,” said 
Father Christmas, placidly. “ It’s impossible to get away from 
squalling babies in England.” 

The ladies looked shocked. 

“There was another reason,” continued Father Christmas. 
“A cousin of mine makes me spend the summer with him 
in Ireland, if I don’t get away first, and it’s a miserable life 
of stables. After breakfast, a cigar and look round the stables ; 

16* 


i86 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT. 


after lunch, a cigar and stroll round the stables ; from morning 
to night stable-talk ; and he actually tried to get me into those 
stables after dinner one night to look at a mare that was ill. 
He’d have kept me there two hours at least; but he failed,” 
and the old gentleman chuckled to himself over that failure. 

Mrs. Legge returned to her guns. 

‘‘Are you studying the farming system here for any partic- 
ular reason, Mr. Kingley?” 

“Yes, I think I may say I am. I have a little land of my 
own on which the farmers barely make both ends meet, stick 
to antiquated methods of farming, and underpay and often 
tyrannise over their labourers, who are without a cottage or 
rood of soil they can call their own for a fortnight together 
except at the will of their employers. The poor fellows are 
without independence, without freedom or rights, except the 
right to throw up their work and starve. Two- thirds of them 
have no future but the workhouse. The whole system is bad, 
and is in part a survival of the Middle Ages. Can we be sur- 
prised that the best of the men leave the land whenever they 
have the chance, and seek work in the towns?” 

“ Certainly not,” said Mrs. Legge. 

“So it is he,” she thought, triumphantly. “Radical ten- 
dencies, studying the land system to introduce it on his prop- 
erty. Ah ! there’s no mistake !” 

She had carefully preserved the paragraph from The Atlas ^ 
and re-read it before entering the room. But Lestrus Arriva 
puzzled her. He was seated next Captain Haulyard, and 
astonishing that gallant gentleman with his exact knowledge 
of Russian naval affairs. 

“He cannot be young Lord Caterham,” thought Mrs. 
Legge. “The paper certainly said ‘young.* I expect his 
lordship went back to England, and this is some superior 
travelling companion ; perhaps a duke wouldn’t take an ordi- 
nary courier.” 

Doubtless, Mrs. Blisse and the other matrons came to some- 
what similar conclusions. 


PUCK IS VERY ACTIVE. 


187 


^^The hill-climbing machines are late. Ha-ha-ha-ha!'^ 
chuckled Colonel Tiffin, as he helped himself to a curious mess 
of macaroni handed by Little Sweetheart. 

In England the colonel rode a cranky old tricycle, and 
during the climb to the glacier snout at Olden had invented, 
and more than once utilised, this velocipedean joke. 

I hope there's nothing wrong,” murmured Mrs. Blisse. 

‘‘It's too terrible to think of,'' said Mrs. Legge. 

“ I warned my girl against it,'' said the otlier mamma, im- 
pressively. 

“They're all right, my dear madam; playing snow-balls 
on the top somewhere, or burying that son of mine in the 
snow to harden him,'' said Colonel Tiffin, with his mouth 
full. 

“ It will soon be dark,” remarked Father Christmas, cheer- 
ingly. 

Anna was appealed to. She sought to reassure them, but 
looked grave. The mountaineering party should have re- 
turned two hours ago, and she had thought it needful to de- 
spatch two sturdy Norskers to meet them ; but of this she said 
nothing. 

The meal was over. The sun slowly disappeared behind the 
mountain ridge dividing Loen from Visnaes. Clouds had 
gathered, and darkness came on rapidly. The three mammas 
grew seriously alarmed, and it was evident that Herre Markus 
and Anna were both very anxious. 

Mrs. Blisse developed symptoms which called for brandy, 
and, alas 1 there was none. All the only available spirit — 
whisky — had been placed by MacMeekin in his huge flask. 

Herre Markus decided to organise a search expedition, and 
the lanterns were being actually lighted when there came a 
weary procession toiling up the path to the hotel. First Mac- 
Meekin with Melissa, in tears, hanging heavily on his arm. 
Next, Mr. White with arm in sling, supported by Grace and 
Unlimited Loo, the latter looking particularly cross. Then 
the two men who had been sent to meet the party, helping 


i88 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT, 


poor Ganymede along. Following these came a young lady 
assisted by the guide, and lastly, Prudence and Bob Cams, 
snugly arm in arm, the excuse of weariness sufficing for the 
conjunction. 

There promised a tender scene between the daughters and 
the mammas, but the girls quickly threw themselves on the 
seats in the verandah, and cried aloud for water. 

‘‘We have not had a drop all day, mamma! Mr. Van 
Bombkin,’’ — Ganymede be it understood — “who was to have 
brought the bottle, forgot it, and we have only had a great 
big flask of neat whisky,” said Loo. 

‘ ‘ — And the snow wouldn’ t even melt in it. It was horrid ! * * 
added Melissa. 

While the ladies were being refreshed, Ganymede was taken 
indoors, and put straightway to bed. The attempt had been 
beyond his poor strength. 

But Mr. White was in the worst plight, having a broken 
arm 1 

“ By Jove ! Elsie, you’ve no idea how our New Woman 
distinguished herself to-day,” said Bob, as he and Prue, sit- 
ting very close together in the spisesal, made a hearty supper. 
(They were the only mountaineers who again put in an ap- 
pearance that night.) “ White stepped on some icy rocks, 
and Unlimited Loo, who wanted an unlimited amount of 
help when he was anywhere near, was hanging on to him ’ ’ 

“ Don’t be unkind,” said Prue. 

“ Don’t interrupt 1 Some more coffee, Anna ! Is there 
any trout left ? Where was I ? Oh, he slipped, fell on his 
arm, and it went snap. Loo heard it and fainted, but our 
New Woman knew what to do in a moment. She made AVhite 
sit down on the ground and nurse his broken arm, and was 
very particular that he should keep the palm up. Then she 
broke up our walking-sticks, put the bits side by side, and 
wove a strand from a rope she unravelled, backwards and for- 
wards in and out of the sticks, and made two walking-stick 
mats. Then she cut open his sleeve, got some shawl stuff 


PUCK IS VERY ACTIVE. 


189 


(tore up Melissa’s as coolly as possible), put it on the sticks 
to pad them, and laid them against the broken arm. She 
tied two or three pocket-handkerchiefs round the affair, and 

made as fine a splice as ever ’ ’ 

^ Splint,’ dear,” suggested Prue. 

Well, splint, if you like. Grace gave us a little lecture 
while she was at work ; said it was a simple fracture of the 
ulna. Last of all, she put a long strip of Melissa’s shawl round 
his neck, made a sling, and the thing was done. Took over 
half an hour, though, and what with that and that limp crea- 
ture, Ganymede — well, here we are at last, anyhow.” 

About this time two little scenes were being acted in other 
parts of the hotel. 

‘‘You had better not come into the salon to-night, dear,” 
Mrs. Legge was saying to her unlimited daughter in the pri- 
vacy of her bedroom. “You are worn out, and looking anything 
but your best. Don’t on any account mention it, as I may 
be wrong, but I believe the duke’s come at last.” 

Nor was Mrs. Blisse less thoughtful. 

“ I wouldn’t trouble to come down again, my darling girl,” 
said she to Melissa. “I’ll have something sent up to your 
room.” 

In fact, except for the hasty glance in the dimly lighted 
verandah, Gerald saw nothing of the three damsels that even- 
ing. Being very much occupied with Ina and Lady Val, who 
showed great interest in his Revelsbury schemes, he did not 
even ask after them. 


LA£>y VAVS ELOPEMENT, 


190 


XX. 

A COMEDY OF ERRORS. 

During the few days immediately following the disastrous 
expedition up the Shaala bjerg, several members of the little 
party staying at Herre Markus’s hotel lived in a more or less 
constant condition of amazement. 

The position of affairs in this fjordside community was not 
unlike that in a State when the government is unexpectedly 
dethroned and the opposition steps into power with an enor- 
mous majority at its back. 

Hitherto the Shaitanic ministry of MacMeekin, White, 
Dearlove, and Bob had ruled Loen unquestioned, if we leave 
out of consideration slight murmurings on the part of Colonel 
Tiffin and Father Christmas, who were without seats in the 
Cabinet. The Government, though wild and erratic, and 
occasionally fantastic, administered affairs in a pleasant man- 
ner, organising expeditions, revolutionising the cuisine to meet 
the requirements of English tastes and stomachs, and ordering 
cheerfulness in all things. 

Captious critics were inclined to complain that when sea- 
trout were running and the weather was suitable for fishing, the 
heads of certain departments unduly absented themselves from 
their duties. But may not Cabinet ministers be excused if they 
occasionally seek relief from the monotony of official routine 
in fly-fishing, golf, cycling, and other mild pastimes ? 

Gerald and l.estrus Arriva had not been twenty-four hours 
in the hotel before the Shaitanic Ministry was overthrown, and 
in three days almost forgotten. Now commenced the era of 
the Kingley Government. 

By Gerald’s wish nothing had been said of the turquoise 
fortune. Fresh from that sweet reconciliation after ‘‘The 
Boy ’ ’ episode, Ina felt flattered that her lover, on his own 
merits, so it appeared to her, should at once take such a leading 


A COMEDY OF ERRORS. 


191 

place among them all. Soon, however, it becoming apparent 
that MacMeekin, Ganymede, and White had been deserted by 
their fair ones in favour of the newcomer, her feelings changed 
considerably. Not that she at this time doubted Gerald’s 
affection for her, but — well, ladies, put yourselves in her place. 
How would you like a tall, dashing, and not unhandsome 
creature, with ruddy golden hair, simply haunting one whom 
you look upon as your future husband, and another with pink 
and white face and China-blue eyes doing ditto, and still 
another cutting in whenever the first pair gave her an oppor- 
tunity; and, in addition to this, one or more of the three 
mammas always turning up inopportunely whenever you hap- 
pen to get a few minutes with the one whom you look upon 
as, etc.”? Even if you are one of those rare birds of the earth, 
a woman superior to jealousy, I venture to say you would not 
like it. True, you might console yourself by thinking that 
the ‘^one whom you look upon as, etc.” being universally 
admired, is proof that your taste in such matters is correct. 
But, after all, such a thought is poor consolation. 

One night when Grace was deep in those ‘‘Elements of 
Qualitative Analysis^ ’ which had so irritated Sir Ambrose, two 
gentle taps came at the bedroom door. It was Ina, vastly 
puzzled, grieving and seeking counsel. 

“Are you busy?” she asked. 

“ No ; come in.” 

“There’s something I do so want to talk to you about; 
only you’ll promise you won’t say anything to anybody, will 
you?” said Ina. 

Grace shut her book with a sigh. 

“ Well, now, what’s the matter? Nothing very dreadful, I 
hope?” 

“It’s about Gerald.’* 

“Yes?” 

“ He’s so — so Oh, I don’t know how to say it.” 

“ Men never are quite satisfactory. Perhaps we expect too 
much.” 


192 


LADY VADS ELOPEMENT. 


Oh, I haven’t any fault to find with him, only 

Grace smiled, and waited patiently. 

I don’t like his being so much with Miss Legge and Miss 
Blisse. Before he came they were so different.” 

Why don’t you speak to him about it ?” 

‘‘Oh, I couldn’t. You know I wouldn’t be engaged be- 
cause I thought I wasn’t good enough for such a rich man, and 
thought he might see some one he liked better. I have no 
claim on him, or any right to interfere.” 

Grace hesitated before replying. At length she said : 

“Sit down on the bed. Now, it really seems to me that 
you can’t do anything. In fact, if I were you I should try 
and appear not to notice it. As you say, you deferred the 
engagement to make quite sure if you were really the woman 
he would have chosen had he been a rich man before he knew 
you. And now you are afraid he’ll choose some one else?” 

“ But it does make me so miserable.” 

When you are as old as I am,” said Grace (this very aged 
person was just twenty-five and a half), “ you won’t think many 
men are worth grieving over. But there, don’t worry ; those 
girls are simply running after him, and I daresay he finds it 
difficult to avoid them.” 

“ But why do they run after him ? He’s very good-looking, 
but so’s Colonel Van Bombkin’s son and Mr. White.” 

“ Perhaps they have heard he has money. Things of that 
kind soon get about.” 

“ He told us not to tell any one. It can’t be that.” 

“ It must be his looks then. It’s not the Greek gods among 
men who are the most admired of women in real life, whatever 
may be the case in fiction. Most women rather worship men 
with some character in their faces — faces on which intellect 
and strength are written.” 

“I suppose that’s why one sees so many ugly men with 
pretty wives,” said Ina, innocently. 

“But Mr. Kingley has just such a face as I mean,” an- 
swered Grace, laughing. “ So you think he is ” 


A COMEDY OF ERRORS, 


193 

— no, not a bit !’* cried Ina, indignantly. He’s got 
a beautiful face !” 

‘‘That’s just what the pretty wives you mentioned think of 
their husbands. Don’t fret about this, my dear. As I said 
before, if I were you I wouldn’t show I minded. Perhaps that 
young duke we heard of the other evening will come to the 
hotel, and then they are all certain to run after him ; and in 
any case we shall soon be leaving for England.” 

“ I’m so glad. I couldn’t stop here long to see him always 
with those girls ; it would simply kill me. But I am hinder- 
ing you. Good-night.” 

Grace pondered over the position. Should she interfere? 
Obviously, the girls and their mammas were hunting Gerald 
down, and at present he cared little or nothing for them. If 
he transferred his affections to such girls as Loo or Milly 
Blisse, Ina was well rid of him. Yes, decidedly it would be 
best for her to do nothing in the matter, at any rate yet awhile. 

So the matter went on, Ina still much amazed at the remark- 
able assault of maidens on her particular lover, and full of 
anxiety thereat, but hiding her grief bravely. 

In the matter of amazement, Mr. John White was no whit 
behind Ina. What had he done, he asked, to be thus deserted 
by Miss Legge ? The girl had not even inquired after him I 
Certainly he had broken his arm in an endeavour to save her 
a stumble, but that hardly seemed a satisfactory explanation 
of her behaviour. Was she jealous, he wondered ? 

The medico had arrived three days after the accident, 
delayed by what MacMeekin called a “number nought” 
birthday in a distant valley. He, honest fellow — meaning 
the medico — declared Miss Cams had arranged the broken 
bones so carefully that no occasion existed for him to reset 
them. The English gentleman was free from fever, and might 
even get up for a few hours in the afternoon. He would send 
a stiff leather support for the arm. 

“ Surely a sensible girl,” thought White, “would be rather 

17 


I 


n 


194 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT, 


glad than vexed that Miss Cams’ s valuable knowledge had 
been available.” 

The more his mind dwelt on this incomprehensible defec- 
tion, the more puzzled he became. He mourned over it a 
little at first, and there was the blow to his self-esteem. He 
had persuaded himself, being a little blinded by that glory of 
ruddy golden hair, that Loo was a girl of sterling worth, 
whose attachment to him was pure and disinterested. His 
good fortune in winning her heart was, he imagined, entirely 
owing to his own merits, and — er — personal attractions. 
Many sweet spinsters of high degree had set their caps at him 
under different circumstances, but here was one of whose 
affections he had felt sure. He had even decided to brave 
the indignation of his family by making her his wife. And 
now she wouldn’t have a word to say to him ! 

The Boy, when paying a morning call on the invalid, gave 
him a slight clue to the mystery, for being so much confined 
to his room, he was quite ignorant of the fact that he had 
been cut out. 

‘‘ See what Miss Cams has sent to you !” exclaimed Dear- 
love, holding out an immense bouquet of heather, graceful 
ferns, and a few mountain flowerets. ‘‘ She’ll come and read 
to you if you like.” 

But I’m in bed I” ejaculated White, aghast. I couldn’t.” 

Oh, rubbish 1 I wish I had the chance of being read to. 
Why, you would have a nurse if you were in England.” 

Yes, a nurse.” 

‘‘But what’s the difference, whether a rortesque little 
woman’s paid a pound a week, and wears a smart cap, cuff, 
and white apron, or does it for love in a tweed dress?” 

Does it for love ! What do you mean?” said White, a 
trifle irritably. 

“ Not what you mean. Why, without payment, that’s all.” 

“ But she’s a lady !” feebly protested White. 

“ So are lots of nurses ; but a woman’s a woman for a’ that. 
What shall I tell her?” 


A COMEDY OF ERRORS, 


195 

I don’t know. Really, it’s ” 

Unlimited Loo won’t come and read to you,” interjected 
The Boy. ‘‘It’s clear she’s mashed on Kingley. In fact, all 
the girls except the Carus ladies and Prue Haulyard are dead 
nuts on him !” 

“Why?” 

“ I don’t know. But what am I to tell our New Woman ?” 

“If she doesn’t mind, I don’t see why I should. She 
isn’t quite like other girls, is she?” 

“No, she’s ultra-bulean. Pity there ain’t more built that 
way! Good-bye, old fellow. No pain, I hope?” 

“ No. Good-bye. Thank Miss Carus for the flowers.” 

Thus it came about that Grace Carus installed herself as a 
kind of amateur nurse to Mr. John White, who under her 
care made rapid progress towards convalescence, both in the 
matter of his broken arm and bruised — I cannot say broken, 
heart. 

“ I declare, they’ve got quite chummy 1” said The Boy to 
Bob a day or two larer. “ Unlimited Loo will never be in 
the running again. By Jove 1 she doesn’t know what she’s 
missed ! ’ ’ and Bob v/ondered what he meant. 

More amazed than either Ina or White was the unwitting 
cause of these various agitations, palpitations, and heart burn- 
ings — to wit, our friend Gerald. Being used to ladies of a 
slightly lower class than those with whom he was now thrown 
into contact, and being too modest to suppose that his own 
good looks were in any way the cause, he at first concluded 
that the excessively agreeable manners and attentions, soft 
nothings, glances, and so forth, of the three damsels were 
simply the customs of polite society. 

And if he did respond just a little, it is only fair to assume, 
bearing in mind his sincere attachment to Ina, that he was not 
willing to be thought a boor, and was merely endeavouring to 
behave according to the fashions of the people among whom 
chance had flung him. 


196 


LADY VADS ELOPEMENT, 


Gerald’s warm but innocent affability was received effusively, 
and returned with interest by the duke-hunting maidens ; but 
when the young man behaved in similar fashion to Grace, 
such evident surprise was exhibited that he began to consider 
the situation seriously. 

The existence of several remarkable coincidences gradually 
dawned upon him. He now noticed how, whenever he com- 
menced to talk to Ina, it almost invariably happened that he 
was called away by one of the three mammas on some pretext 
or other, and, Ina and he being parted, the daughter of that 
mamma would usually appear upon the scene, upon which the 
mamma disappeared. Further, that each mamma seemed to 
have a particular objection to his being alone with the daugh- 
ter of any other mamma. Then these good women belauded 
their offspring to him in a way more than ordinary. Never 
were such good daughters ; never were girls so greatly ad- 
mired. Only last summer during a fete at the Botanic Gar- 
dens the P e of W s was so struck with Louisa that he 

directed his equerry to ascertain her name, at least so Mrs. 
Legge declared. Mrs. Blisse, who when at home dwelt in a 
cathedral town, gave Gerald to understand that owing to her 
daughter being so beautiful, sweet, and pious, all the unmar- 
ried clergy in the place were on their knees before her, and 
she had only to choose. 

Gerald deemed these things very remarkable ; but there 
being no reason, so far as he knew, why any of these young 
ladies or their mothers should run after him, he found it im- 
possible to arrive at any satisfactory conclusions concerning 
their conduct. 

‘‘After all,” thought he, “perhaps these good people 
simply wish to be friendly; but I don’t see why Ina should 
keep so much in the background. She almost seems to avoid 
me purposely.” 

One evening he found her alone, standing in the verandah 
gazing sadly out over the fjord. He stole up gently and 
placed his arm round her. The girl started. 


A COMEDY OF ERRORS. 


197 


No, you mustn’t do that !” 

‘‘Why not, darling?” 

“ There’ll be someone here directly. Oh ! do let me go !” 
and she sought to remove his arm. 

He held her the tighter. 

“I don’t mind if someone does come,” he said. 

“ But I think Lady Val wants me. I must go in.” 

“ I can’t make you out, Ina, you are so changed.” 

“No, Gerald. I’m just the same.” 

There was just the slightest possible stress on the “I.” 

“You never seem to want to be with me,” he complained. 

“ There are so many ladies here for you to be with.” 

“But I don’t want to be with them.” 

The girl made no comment on this assertion. 

“We are so much thrown together here it is difficult to get 
out of their way,” he said, apologetically. 

“Why should you keep out of their way?” she asked. 
“You are not bound to me.” 

“Oh, but I am,” he said, warmly. “Do explain what 
you mean. What have I done?” 

“You two are wanted to play ‘Up, Jenkins’ at once. 
Come along !” 

Gerald quickly removed his arm. 

“ Can’t you manage without us?” he asked. 

“ No, there are not enough,” said Ganymede, who had un- 
fortunately interrupted a conversation which might have led 
to a better understanding between these two young people, 
and saved a world of trouble hereafter. 

“ Well, I suppose we must go in,” said Gerald. 

Ina said nothing, but sighed. Six months ago Gerald 
would have seen “Up, Jenkins” at the bottom of the fjord 
before he would have deserted her to play it. 

17* 


198 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT, 


XXL 

RE-ENTER LADY FROGGART. 

^^Up, Jenkins/* has characteristics of its own. It is a 
game particularly suitable for young people of a merry, not 
to say flirtatious, disposition, and it gives opportunities for 
the conveyance of unspoken and unwritten messages of love, 
or feelings tending in that direction, which are wanting in 
every other game known to the frivolous. 

An even number of persons, youths and maidens alter- 
nating, sit round a table. Sides are chosen — let us call 
them the Blues and the Buffs. The Blues have a sixpence. 
‘‘Down, Jenkins,** says one of the Buffs, and immediately 
the hands of all the Blues are under the table rapidly passing 
the sixpence from hand to hand, endeavouring to hide its 
passage from the keen eyes of the Buffs. ‘‘Up, Jenkins!** 
orders the speaker on the Buff side, and each Blue one must 
place his or her hands flat on the table at that instant. Where- 
upon, the Buff speaker has three guesses to discover under 
which hand is the sixpence. A slight elevation of the hand, 
a twinkle of the eye, extreme solemnity, and other little arti- 
fices are attempted by the Blues with the object of deluding 
the Buffs, who as a rule will guess the wrong persons, and 
have to put something in the pool. 

So the pool goes on accumulating until a right guess is made 
either by the Blues or the Buffs, when the counters or coins 
are divided among the members of the successful side. 

Now, to pass a sixpence practically in the dark underneath 
the table from hand to hand, or to pretend to pass it back- 
wards and forwards, during the space of two or three minutes, 
gives not only opportunities but excuses for certain hand 
squeezes, pressings, and so forth, which — well, you can under- 
stand that Ina was not best pleased when she found that a seat 


RE-ENTER LADY FROGGART 


199 

for her was reserved next Dearlove, while her lover was placed 
between Milly Blisse and Louisa Legge. 

At an al fresco lunch given a few days later by the mother 
of Unlimited Loo, Gerald’s eyes were opened. 

Entertainments of this kind should be something more than 
an exceedingly uncomfortable meal sandwiched between the 
journeys of the outgoing and return. A nominal object other 
than eating, table and chairs being omitted, is all essential to 
success — something of interest to do, of beauty to see. More- 
over, the experienced mother will be careful to provide the 
younger members of the party with those opportunities for 
flirtation apart from duennas, which they regard as proper and 
incident to such gatherings. Upon the giver is conferred the 
right of ordering and arranging the guests — an enormous 
power to be placed in the hands of a scheming mamma with 
marriageable daughters. O beware of picnics so engineered, 
all ye young eligibles of the male sex ! 

Gerald was, of course, consulted. Without his approval 
nothing was done. A head less strong would have been 
turned, but no worse harm came of the adulation and defer- 
ence of the schemers other than the thought that ‘‘some 
people’* seemed to appreciate him, which was an unspoken 
little dig at the sweet girl who was bedewing her pillow with 
tears every night for love of him. 

“ Now, please tell me if you approve our plans, Mr. King- 
ley, ’ ’ said Mrs. Legge. ‘ ‘ I want a few of the nicest people 
here,” and she looked at him meaningly, “to come with us 
in the steamer to Visnaes, drive up the valley to the Stryn 
Vand, a most lovely lake, which we shall do in a little launch, 
then land again, and drive along the new road to the head of 
the river, where there is a waterfall and the marks of a big 
avalanche which fell last spring. Then we’ll have lunch — I 
want you all to be my guests — and return here in the even- 
ing/» 


200 


LADY VALS ELOPEMENT. 


Gerald thought it would be a delightful expedition. 

The day arrived, cloudless and windless. August was nearly 
ended, and signs of winter were even now at hand. At high 
altitudes there had been a few slight falls of snow, and the 
mountains from their summits downwards for many feet were 
as if some mighty giant had besprinkled them with powdered 
sugar. 

Mr. John White was not of the party, and Grace, out of 
kindness for him, refused Mrs. Legge’s invitation. The pair 
passed the day pleasantly enough, Grace rowing the invalid 
about the bay, chatting social science with him, and making 
a pretence of harling for sea-trout. She was the more deeply 
read ; he had more knowledge of men and things, and pro- 
vided facts to fit her theories. She amused him by uncon- 
cernedly discussing, from a scientific standpoint, subjects 
which are usually tabooed. On the whole, they improved the 
shining hour, and about this period of their intimacy began 
to entertain a sincere respect for one another. 

While the little steamer was on its way round the point to 
Visnaes, Mrs. Legge marshalled her forces. She said : 

‘‘Now, I can’t possibly look after everyone, so I shall put 
each lady in charge of a gentleman, whose duty it will be 
to drive her up the valley, and see that she wants for nothing. 
Mr. Dearlove, will you please take charge of Miss Spring- 
brook?” 

The Boy said nothing, feeling the awkwardness of the posi- 
tion, but bowed assent. Lady Val was allotted to Captain 
Haulyard, Prue to Bob, Melissa, with a younger sister, to 
Ganymede and MacMeekin respectively, Mrs. Blisse to Father 
Christmas, while Mrs. Legge placed herself in charge of 
Colonel Tiffin. 

“And poor little me?” asked Unlimited Loo, plaintively. 
“ Why am I to be left out in the cold?” 

“ Dear ! dear ! how stupid of me ! Ah ! Mr. Kingley, I over- 
looked you. Will you kindly take Louisa under your wing ?” 


RE-ENTER LADY FROGGART 


201 


you see?*’ whispered Father Christmas in Colonel 
Tiffin’s ear. 

‘‘Gad! I do. I’m an old soldier myself,” answered the 
colonel, with a laugh. 

The third mamma was not of the party. She and her 
daughter had been called to England some days previously, 
owing to the illness of a son at Marlborough. I have pur- 
posely left these two persons nameless, as the part they played 
in the events I am endeavouring to place on record was a small 
one, and the more prominent and nameworthy actors are 
numerous. 

Lestrus Arriva received an invitation to join in the excur- 
sion, but declined. Life was no laughing matter to this stern- 
looking, determined man, who abhorred the frivolities of the 
gay pleasure -seeking crowd at the hotel. He vainly sought to 
reawake in Gerald the love of more serious things, and neg- 
lected no argument to convert him to his views. But his 
plans were “ganging a-gley.” Gerald had lately taken to 
discussing social reforms with Grace and Lady Val, and the 
common- sense, though somewhat advanced views, of our own 
particular New Woman served in a great measure to counteract 
the revolutionary ideas instilled into him by his mentor. Les- 
trus was not slow to perceive the position of affairs, and was 
anxiously seeking for some means to withdraw his pupil from 
the society of Ina and the Cams family. As regards Ina, chance 
had played into his hands. 

Plots and picnics were the order of the day. The former may 
be left to unravel themselves. The adventures of Mrs. Legge 
and her guests are of more immediate concern. 

Very soon the steamer was round the point and lying along- 
side the stone quay at Visnaes, under the shadow of Herre 
Tenden’s fine new hotel, all of good honest pine wood from 
roof to the stone foundations, with a fire-escape in every bed- 
room, and glorying in the possession of verandah and finely- 
carved balconies, to say nothing of a tower, the envy of every 


202 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT. 


hotel proprietor for miles. And Herre Tenden himself, a small, 
clean-shaven, pleasant-faced, youthful-looking man, welcomed 
them with many bows and removals of his soft felt hat, and in 
very good English informed Mrs. Legge that the seven stolk- 
jaerres she saw upon the quay had been obtained by her request, 
and were forthwith at her service. 

‘‘You lead the way, Mr. Dearlove,** ordered the matron, 
who had ascertained which was the fleetest of the cream ponies, 
and apportioned it to The Boy and Ina. “You can go next, 
Mr. Robert, and we old ones will follow. Perhaps you will 
kindly act as whipper-in, Mr. Kingley, and take this stolk- 
jaen'c?"' pointing to one drawn by an aged pony. 

Five of the ponies took their time from their leader. The 
seventh and last, having attained an age when the spirit of 
emulation diminishes to a vanishing point, went at its own 
slow pace. The result of this manceuvre, therefore, was 
that Unlimited Loo and her squire lagged of a necessity, 
which doubtless had the appearance of intention, and later 
on were publicly rallied by the watchful mamma on their ap- 
parent desire for solitude. 

A stolkjaerre is a two- wheeled vehicle. Above the springs, 
when there are any, is a quadrangular platform to hold lug- 
gage. From the sides of the platform rise either two slanting 
wooden arms or iron supports which sustain a seat holding 
exactly two persons. The driver stands behind on the plat- 
form, or squats on the luggage if there is any, or there may 
be a perch especially built for him. The reins pass between 
the two occupants of the front seat. It is not exactly the con- 
veyance fora pair of lovers, but if the driver knows no English, 
what matters? Even if he has a knowledge of our tongue, he 
will, if a man of sense, hide his acquirement when driving 
turtle-doves whom, it may be assumed, wish to converse 
unrestrainedly. When at the end of such a stage our Norsker 
employs fluent English to express his feelings on the subject 
of drikkepenge^ she may blush rosy red and he look sheepish. 

The little procession of these interesting vehicles trotted 


RE-ENTER LADY FROGGART 


203 


briskly— saving Gerald’s screw — along the winding road from 
the quay, past the priest’s two-storied dwelling, and through 
the picturesque little village of wooden houses, clattered over 
the wooden-paved bridge which crosses the Stryn River, 
leaving on the left the house of the cobbler who cuts hair — 
nervously when the patient is English — and the store where 
one buys fish-hooks, cow-bells, scythes, and trousers. Then 
away they went sharp round the corner up the great valley, 
mountains on each side, snow-besprinkled as to their tops, 
mountains ahead apparently blocking the way, mountains even 
to the rear. The valley paved with broad, green, closely- 
cropped pasture lands dotted with alder bushes, rowans, and 
small birches, all being stripped of their leaves for winter’s use, 
the workers mainly broad-shouldered, healthy-looking women 
with smiling faces. Here and there a youth or maiden were 
shaving the short turf with large razors, making a second crop 
of hay, which smelt less sweet than the wondrous grass bouquet 
which had delighted English visitors a month earlier. 

Away they went up the valley. The road soon skirted the 
roaring salmon river, in full volume for the time being, the 
sun melting the snows bravely. Away past the pretty wooden 
house erected by an ingenious Englishman who travels over 
the river in a chair swung below a tightly strained wire ; past 
lovely pools where the green waters swirled round islands ; 
past noble waterfalls crowned with laxgars or traps hated of 
English salmon fishers. As they proceeded the mountains 
gradually closed in, the river, broadening and tumbling in 
high glee over rocky ledges, was crowned by a rustic bridge, 
then widened out into a placid lakelet, the mountains all re- 
flected as in a looking-glass. 

The road, still on the left hand, now skirted the water’s 
edge and soon led them over a rickety bridge on to a little 
promontory, the ponies for reasons of safety going at a walking 
pace. Then they saw before them a second lake of great size, 
still larger and more perpendicular mountains than before hem- 
ming it in. Mere words do not suffice to adequately describe the 


204 


LADY VArS ELOPEMENT, 


beauty of this mindre siind or middle island, as the promon- 
tory was called, covered with graceful silver birch and moun- 
tain ash, a tiny hotel nestling among the trees, the glassy 
lakes on either shore, the wondrous masses of rock and frozen 
snow, towering five thousand feet into the blue ether, things 
of untold ages, looking calmly down on the troop of puny 
mortals, whose lives were as an hour in the history of those 
huge sentinels of the world. 

Lady Val was silent for some minutes. The scene appealed 
strongly to her. She found herself holding her breath, as if 
even the noise of breathing would cause the awe inspiring yet 
lovely picture to vanish. 

If some great trouble came upon me,’’ she said at length 
to Captain Haulyard, ‘‘and I wished to leave the world 
awhile — I mean the world of men and women — I would come 
here and live by this Lake of Reflections.” 

From the white sandy shores of a tiny bay projected a 
small pier of rough stones. By its side lay a launch which 
had seen some service. The stolkjaerres were abandoned, 
and our friends went aboard, seating themselves under the 
awning which protected the deck over the cabin from sun- 
shine, rain, and (it is painful to admit their existence amid 
such lovely surroundings) smuts. In the forepart of the ves- 
sel were a few peasant girls with shawls over their heads, 
framing their pleasant faces ; one a soft-eyed beauty who 
might have posed to Correggio for a portrait of the Madonna. 

A mild excitement was caused by an attempt made to in- 
duce two of the gentle cream ponies to jump off the quay into 
the launch. Once aboard, the docile creatures were quiet as 
lap-dogs, and rubbed their soft noses against the girls’ shoul- 
ders. 

The whistle screeched, and away they slowly steamed, the 
upper deck devoted to Mrs. Legge’s party, luncheon-baskets 
filling the cabin, and all other available places crowded with 
a strange conglomeration of cream ponies, boilers. Madonnas, 
peasants, men and girls, engineers, and stolkjaerre drivers. . 


RE-ENTER LADY FROGGART 


205 


I believe we’ve left the corkscrew behind ! Would you 
mind looking for it, Mr. Kingley ? You had better go with 
him, as you know where the things are, Louisa,” said Mrs. 
Legge. 

And Gerald had to spend a half hour in the cabin with 
Loo, who seemed more inclined to talk than to search, Ina 
on deck the while, and — her thoughts running below — giving 
answers at random to The Boy, who was endeavouring to 
amuse her. 

Touching at various little quays near farms or villages, they 
gradually neared the head of the lake. Here the mountains 
were still higher and grander than before, and here, almost in 
the shadow of the glacier from which narrow milky streams 
dashed down the mountains’ sides, the air grew chilly. At 
Hjelle, near the outfall of the upper portion of the Stryn 
River into the lake, they landed, and found five stolkjaerres 
awaiting them, the drivers being girls habited in blue skirts, 
gay red waistcoats brightened with curiously- wrought silver- 
gilt ornaments, and full white sleeves. Small gaudy hand- 
kerchiefs were tied over their heads on which the hair was 
parted centrally and smoothed down on either side. 

The cream ponies were landed and harnessed to two addi- 
tional stolkjaerres. Again Dearlove led the way, and again 
Gerald was made whipper-in, but now a new pony less slug- 
gish than the Visnaes screw drew his stolkjaerre. The intel- 
ligent little animal would have kept up with the rest, but Loo 
took the reins, and on the plea of kindness to dumb creatures, 
they arrived at the lunching-place ten minutes behind the 
rest. Here the country was still wilder and grander, more 
bleak and barren. Torrents from the glacier had torn down 
the valley at the melting of the snows in spring, carrying away 
trees, rolling about huge rocks as if they were acorns, piling 
up stones, turning the land grey in their course. 

The invaders of these wild solitudes saw the track of a 
mighty avalanche which had ploughed up the side of the 
mountain in its descent, and half filled the valley. By a 

18 


2o6 


LADY VArS ELOPEMENT. 


splendidly engineered, zig zag road they mounted so high up 
a huge barrier of rock, which nature had thrown across the 
valley, that, looking down, cows pasturing in a green meadow 
by the river, now a mere mountain streamlet, looked no 
larger than sheep. From this altitude, water gliding over a 
rocky ledge into space, changed into vapour ere it reached 
the valley. 

Mrs. Legge had a far keener eye to Loo and her cavalier 
than to these wonders. 

A moderately dry place had been found, the hampers had 
been unpacked, the meal had been made, and a litter of paper, 
bottles, etc., marked the progress of a party of English people 
‘Moing'’ Norway. 

‘‘ Loo, dear. I’m sure you’d find some of that lovely antler 
moss among those rocks. I don’t mind your going if Mr. 
Kingley will look after you.” 

Mr. Kingley did go. He found that his companion cared 
very little about the moss ; that she required more help over 
the rocks than was quite natural in a well-built, active young 
woman ; that she held his hand sometimes an instant longer 
than circumstances justified ; that her boot-laces came un- 
done, and that he was called on to do them up ; that there 
was a gentle pressure of her hand on more than one occasion ; 
that his Christian name slipped out quite accidentally, but was 
quickly recalled amid confusion which was evidently assumed ; 
that when stooping down to look for this phantom moss she 
did turn up her face and give him a most tender glance ; that 
she was leading him farther and farther away from the picnic 
party ; that she sat down, pretending fatigue, and by her 
looks, and by sitting on the edge of a rock of surface capacity 
sufficient for two, plainly invited him to sit by her; that from 
time to time she sighed. Finally, and in conclusion, that 

SHE WAS MAKING LOVE TO HIM ! 

Now he saw through the mother’s manoeuvres and the girl’s 
attractive manners ; and Ina — she must have seen it all along ! 
No wonder she was vexed ! 


RE-ENTER LADY FROGGART 


207 


Greatly agitated by the discovery which to him was most 
alarming, he hurried his ruddy-haired charge unceremoniously 
back. His place was with Ina ; but alas ! the procession was 
already under way, and Dearlove was seated beside the sweet 
maid of Revelsbury. Gerald could not well take his place ; 
but would have nothing more to do with Loo, so turned to 
Lady Val. 

Would you mind me driving you back to the boat?’^ he 
asked. 

Lady Val had no objection; in fact, she was rather pleased 
to change her companion, and Captain Haulyard expressed 
himself willing to convoy Miss Legge. So, without more 
ado, Gerald jumped up beside Lady Val, seized the reins, and 
drove off after The Boy before the astonished Mrs. Legge 
could make protest. 

What does it mean? Just look at Loo!” said Melissa, 
excitedly, to her mamma. I declare I believe he’s asked 
her, and been refused.” 

^‘That’s impossible,” said her mother, firmly. She’s 
asked him, and had ‘ No’ for an answer, more likely.” 

The journey homeward was somewhat depressing, the 
hostess being anything but cheerful, and Unlimited Loo 
snappish. Melissa snubbed Ganymede unmercifully; Mac- 
Meekin found himself chained to a bread-and-butter school- 
girl, who giggled at every remark he made, witty or otherwise ; 
Ina’s feelings can be easily understood. Mrs. Blisse was one 
of the few cheerful members of the party, being well pleased 
to have had a pleasant outing at the expense of a rival, who 
seemed to have made no headway in the Great Endeavour. 

At Mindre Sund the picnic party entered the little salon of 
the hotel, and, being chilly, were thankful for hot coffee 
served by a piget in peasant dress, who spoke English with a 
New York accent. They found the Stryn Valley full of 
clouds, which arched across from mountain to mountain, giv- 
ing the appearance of a mighty cavern roofed with luminous 
pearly-grey vapour. 


208 


LADY VArS ELOPEMENT, 


Owing to a slight mishap to the harness of the pony draw- 
ing the second stolkjaerre, in the repair of which several of 
the drivers busied themselves, The Boy and Ina arrived at 
Visnaes a half hour sooner than their companions. 

‘‘ Shall we go up to the hotel and order tea? The steamer 
don’t start for some time,” said Dearlove. 

I don’t mind.” 

Had he suggested the ordering of chloroform, she would 
hardly have objected. 

Turning the corner sharply by the quay, he brought the 
stolkjaerre up to the main entrance which lies at the back of 
the hotel. An elderly lady, in a long travelling cloak, curly 
brown wig, and juvenile-looking toque, was standing on the 
top of the steps, attempting to give orders about her luggage 
to a porter, who indifferently comprehended her wushes. 
Hearing the sound of wheels, she turned towards the new 
arrivals. 

Oh, I hope you’re English,” she cried. It’s so absurd ! 
This stupid man won’t understand French. Would you mind 
telling him that ” 

While speaking, she raised a pair of glasses attached to a 
long tortoiseshell handle, and peered through them at Ina and 
Dearlove. She stopped on the ‘‘that” with her mouth half 
open, showing a double set of false teeth, and a look of blank 
amazement spread over her wrinkled old face, which no 
amount of rouge and poudre de perle could rejuvenate. The 
sight literally took her breath away ! 

“Why — my — dear — Lord Caterham !” she gasped at length. 
“Your mother asked me to find you if I could, but I never 
expected to meet you travelling with Lady Val’s maid !” 

“Lord Caterham !” murmured Ina, blushing violently. 

“Lady’s-maid! What rot!” said The Boy under his 
breath. “ How do. Lady Froggart?” 

It was the same worldly old dame who, a twelve-month 
earlier, had strongly advised her niece to dispense with the 
services of a certain “offensively pretty” maid. 


RE-ENTER LADY FROGGART, 


209 


The Boy, so let us continue to call him, assisted Ina to 
alight from the stolkjaerre. The girl, much confused, would 
have run away, but the old lady prevented her. 

‘‘Now, what does it mean?” she asked. “ Come into the 
salon, the hotel’s empty. Where’s Lady Val?” 

“ Who’s Lady Val?” asked The Boy. 

“Why, my niece, and this young person’s mistress.” 

“No; she’s not my mistress now,” said Ina. “ She’ll be 
here directly, and will explain all about it.” 

Lady Froggart’s face fell a little. She had scented a scan- 
dal, and it might be a false scent after all ! 

“I’m very glad I’ve met you,” she said to The Boy. “ I 
have been travelling with the Trevanyons. Before I left 
England the marchioness asked me most particularly to look 
up her dear son if I had the opportunity, for you never seem 
to write to her, you bad boy, and let her know what you are 
doing. So, hearing you were somewhere at the head of the 
fjord, I left my friends at Faleide, and was on my way to see 
if I could find you here, or at Loen or Olden.” 

“I have been at Loen some time,” said The Boy. 

“But what have you done with the duke?” asked the old 
lady. 

“ The duke !” thought Ina. 

“ Oh, he’s getting on all right. He broke his arm — but I 
say, you know, you mustn’t tell any of these people who we 
are. Silchester finds it so beastly travelling in state that he is 
very anxious to be known here as ‘ Mr. John White.’ ” 

“ Of course, if the duke wishes it, I shall not say anything.” 

Ina gave no such pledge. 

“And perhaps now you will be good enough to explain 
about Lady Val,” added Lady Froggart, turning to the girl. 

“ Oh, yes, my lady. I suppose you know she ran away 
from Sir Ambrose because he ill-treated her ? She’s been with 
her brother, Mr. Robert Cams, ever since, hiding from Sir 
Ambrose. He nearly found her at Baden, but she called her- 
self Mrs. Hutchinson, and came on to ’ ’ 

o 18* 


210 


LADY FADS ELOPEMENT, 


Well, I never ! And we thought she’d gone off with a — 
um ! Bless me ! Why, all my friends seem to be masquer- 
ading under false names.” 

‘‘But you won’t say anything about it, will you. Lady 
Froggart? Or you, Lord Caterham?” said Ina, anxiously. 

“I don’t know,” said the old lady. “I must talk this 
over with Elsie. If she had been with someone else one 
could have understood the position, but to go off like that 
with her own brother — it’s really too ridiculous.” 

“Here they are,” said The Boy, as the sound of wheels 
was heard. “ Don’t forget my name’s Dearlove.” 


XXIL 

AMARANTH OVERHEARS A CONVERSATION. 

Lady Froggart decided to accompany Lady Val to Loen, 
and rejoin her friends at Faleide on the following day. 

“I must say I strongly disapprove of your going off with 
your brother like this, and travelling under a false name,” 
said she, to her niece. 

They were in the stuffy little cabin of the steamboat, the 
other members of the picnic party being on deck. 

“ I could think of no other way of separating myself from 
Sir Ambrose. I should be helpless if he found me. He might 
force me to go back to him.” 

“Would he? I don’t know. He declared he’d have a 
divorce, and I must say I am not surprised. ’ ’ 

“ But Grace told him I was with Bob,” urged Lady Val. 

“Yes, so I heard; but, of course, he didn’t believe it; 
who would ?’ ’ 

“ Oh ! how I wish I could be properly separated from 
him!” cried Lady Val, impulsively. “My marriage was 
such a fearful mistake 1” 

It gave you a very good position, my dear.” 


AMARANTH O VERHEARS A CON VERSA TION, 2 1 1 


But the man was so hateful. You can have no idea what 
he was like.’* 

Have you quite decided to live apart from him if it can 
be arranged?’* 

^^Yes, quite.’* 

believe it’s very foolish of me to tell you about him, 
for men are all alike, and there are some things which in 
society we must be blind to. It used to grieve me a good 
deal when I first began to hear about poor Sir William and 
Lady Betty, and I daresay I said some very cruel and cutting 
things; but then I was an inexperienced girl, and didn’t un- 
derstand the ways of the world.” 

Elsie wondered what that old reprobate, the late Sir William 
Froggart, had to do with the subject, and ventured to recall 
her aunt to the point. 

‘‘You were saying you had something to tell me.” 

“Yes; but it’s so boicrgeois to make a fuss about these 
matters. I assure you, my dear, it doesn’t do to be too crit- 
ical. A woman who gets her house, horses, plenty of pocket- 
money, and a smart circle of friends, ought to give her hus- 
band a little latitude ; it’s by far the best way.” 

“ But, aunt, you had something to tell me about Sir Am- 
brose.” 

“ Well, you really must promise me not to make a scandal, 
or take any steps unless you meet, and have no other way of 
dealing with him.” 

“Yes, I will promise.** 

“Well, I had it from young Lord de Gay,** said the old 
lady, sinking her voice to a confidential whisper. “ He 
seemed to quite sympathise with you, and if it becomes neces- 
sary you can go to him for particulars. I won’t be mixed up 
in the matter. All you need say to Sir Ambrose if he be- 
comes troublesome is — is — well, ask him when he last saw 
Helene Diologent.” 

“What ! the actress of the Gymnase?’* 

“Yes.” 


2T2 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT. 


Is there anything between them? We saw her act when 
we were on our honeymoon/’ 

My dear, it is best for you not to know.” 

“ I think I ought to.” 

‘‘No ; at any rate not from me. Now, tell me why your 
maid is gadding about with young Lor — Mr. Dearlove.” 

Lady Val explained the position to her. 

“ The girl’s a fool to run the risk of losing such a chance ! 
Of course, he’ll make a good match with all that money,” was 
the old lady’s comment. “ Really, Elsie, you ought to try and 
arrange an engagement between him and Grace.” 

“ No, no, aunt !” cried Lady Val, laughing. “I’ll not play 
the traitor to Ina in that way. She’s a sweet girl. I’m sure 
they are both devoted to one another, and the marriage will 
be a most happy one.” 

“Bah!” said the old lady, pettishly. “He won’t marry 
her now. It would be ridiculous 1” 

On deck, the pretty object of these kindly remarks was im- 
patiently awaiting an opportunity to make an important 
communication to the Legges and Blisses. The picnickers, 
enveloped in wraps, were seated on two long seats facing one 
another. Conversation lagged. 

At length MacMeekin spoke : 

“By Jove! our last week! We ought to do something 
bold.” 

“We haven’t done the Loen glacier yet. Everyone’s been 
talking of it long enough,” grumbled Colonel Tiffin. 

“ We were waiting for Mr. White to get well enough to join 
us,” said Gerald, who, in his capacity of Prime Minister, had 
already been approached on the subject. 

“Well, as we are all going on Saturday, and I suppose we 
shall be packing on Friday, Thursday’s the last available day. 
I daresay White will be well enough by then,” said The 
Boy. 

Mrs. Blisse was granted an inspiration. 


AMARANTH OVERHEARS A CONVERSATION 213 

^^Let^s have another picnic/^ she said. I’ll invite you 
all.” 

There’s an enormous cavern of blue ice. It would be so 
sweet to lunch in it. The guide-book says it’s like fairy- 
land,” cried Melissa, with enthusiasm well pumped up. 

‘^I respectfully but firmly decline all proposals to lunch in 
ice caves,” said Father Christmas. ‘‘ It would be worse than 
a visit to my cousin’s stables.” 

Demned moist, unpleasant, and anything but rortesque 
places,” remarked MacMeekin. 

Oh ! you do say shockingly funny things,” giggled Miss 
Amaranth Blisse, who sat next him. 

‘^You’ll all come, won’t you?” asked Mrs. Blisse. ‘‘Per- 
haps the ice cave wouldn’t be quite the best place to lunch in, 
but we are sure to find a nice spot ; aren’t we, Mr. Kingley ?” 

Mr. Kingley thought it was probable, but made an inward 
vow that unless he could stop this persecution he was suffering 
from at the hands of the Legges and the Blisses, he would have a 
very bad headache indeed, or some other convenient ailment 
on Thursday morning. 

The glacial matter settled, MacMeekin announced that the 
Shaitans intended to have a farewell guest-night at the club, 
forty-eight hours later, to wit, on Wednesday evening, to 
which all men, but no ladies, were invited. In the matter of 
the club, the jovial Scotchman still reigned supreme, though 
Gerald had been made a member. ' 

Steam was shut off a few minutes after this announcement 
was made. There on the port-bow was big, snow-capped 
Shaala towering skywards, the little village nestling at its foot, 
the pretty river racing down the valley, the tidal sea-trout 
pools, the dear old, wooden hotel, with Anna watching for 
them from the balcony, and Herre Markus with a strapping 
Norsker coming off in a big boat to ferry them to the shore. 
To some of them the place had become so familiar that after 
the long journey up the Stryndal, this almost seemed like a 
home-coming. 


214 


LADY VADS ELOPEMENT. 


With so much scheming going on around her, Ina must be 
pardoned if she hatched a little plot of her own. She had by 
no means forgotten Grace’s suggestion that should the pseu- 
donymic young duke arrive, these mammas and their daugh- 
ters might be expected to turn their attention in his direc- 
tion, and, as a natural consequence, leave Mr. Gerald 
Kingley to his fate, which fate, Ina ventured to hope, she 
herself might be. 

Now see how artful a simple little country maid can be on 
an occasion. They had not been on shore ten minutes when 
she paid Unlimited Loo an evening call in her bedroom. 
Loo at the moment was powdering her nose, which, owing to 
the chilly evening, approximated in color to her hair. 

‘^Oh, please could you tell me where I can find that copy 
of The Atlas or Veritas, with the news in it about the duke?” 
said Ina, meekly. 

Loo stared indignantly at her visitor, and her face flushed 
hotly. Then as quickly cooling down, she said, unconcernedly : 

I’m sure I don’t know. I had forgotten all about the 
man.” 

I should so like to see it. Don’t you remember who had 
the paper?” 

There was something in the tone of her visitor’s voice that 
caused the Unlimited One to look up inquiringly. 

Who — er — why do you want it particularly?” 

Ina smiled. 

It’s a little secret,” she said ; but I’ll tell you if you’ll 
promise faithfully not to tell anybody.” 

Loo promised. 

What do you think? The duke’s in the hotel !” 

Oh ! is that all?” exclaimed Loo. That’s no secret !” 

Poor Ina ! So her information was no news ; her discovery 
was futile. Tears came into her eyes. She turned to go. 

Well, I do think it’s unkind of you if you’ve known he 
was here weeks ago, and never told any of us,” she com- 
plained, hardly knowing what she said. 


AMARANTH OVERHEARS A CONVERSATION. 215 

Weeks ago! What do you mean?'' said Loo, looking 
puzzled. Why 1 he hasn't been in the house more than 
ten days." 

^‘Six weeks, at least," said Ina, holding the handle of the 
door, and half turning back. 

No, you must be dreaming. Why, he and Mr. Arriva 
only came the day we went up the mountain." 

^‘But Mr. Arriva didn't come with him." 

Yes he did." 

^‘Surely you didn't think Mr. Kingley was the duke?" 
cried Ina, much agitated. 

‘‘Yes, of course," said Loo, looking deeply concerned. 

“But he isn't. Indeed, he isn't," said Ina, joyfully. “ I 
knew him quite well in England. It's Mr. John White, and 
Mr. Dearlove is young Lord Caterham 1 ' ' 

Unlimited Loo was a fairly strong-minded young woman, 
but the shock was too much for her. She felt her knees 
giving way, sat down on her bed, and forthwith developed a 
very genuine attack of hysteria. 

Ina summoned Mrs. Legge in all haste, and discreetly left 
her with her daughter. 

A Norwegian hotel is a huge sounding-board, stairs, ceil- 
ings, walls, floors, all of pine, each room a wooden box. One 
morning no less than thirty-five persons who had been sleep- 
ing, or endeavouring to sleep, in various parts of such a build- 
ing, complained to the proprietor of a loud and continued 
snoring noise, which had seriously disturbed their rest. 
Everyone thought his own particular neighbour was at fault, 
and there were mutual recriminations, admonitions, and much 
ill-feeling. Explanations and inquiries traced the awakening 
reverberations to one particular nose, the property of a dis- 
tinguished but sonorous Belgian lady, who, with her maid, 
had, perhaps fortunately, left the hotel by an early boat. 

The little incident is recorded, not to point a moral (for 
example, that dwellers in wooden houses must not snore), or 
even to adorn a tale, but solely to enable those who are unac- 


2i6 


LADY FADS ELOPEMENT. 


quainted with the peculiarities of Norwegian dwellings to un- 
derstand how it was that Miss Amaranth Blisse, who slept in, 
and had just entered the room adjoining for purposes of adorn- 
ment, chanced to hear a very great deal of the excited conver- 
sation which took place as soon as Unlimited Loo had suffi- 
ciently recovered to fire off a little jobation at her mother. 

‘‘My child, are you better?’’ was the first sentence which 
caught Amaranth’s ear as she jommenced to unbutton her 
bodice, disclosing that lace-edged instrument by which the 
human form divine is educated in youth, and controlled in 
maturity. 

There was a muffled reply, broken by sobs. After a short 
interval the bed creaked, as if Loo had turned over, or per- 
haps sat up, and Amaranth heard her say : 

“You’ve spoilt it” — sob — “all! I might have been a 

duchess, only you” — sob — sob. 

Amaranth had got to the last button, but proceeded no 
further with the removal of her dress. This conversation was 
out of the ordinary. 

“What do you mean, Louisa?” said a voice, which was 
clearly Mrs. Legge’s. 

“ Oh ! — Oh 1 — He was so” — sob — “ fond of me. I’m sure 
he’d have proposed if you hadn’t” — sob — sob. 

“Hadn’t what, Louisa?” 

“ Made me take up with the” — sob — “ other one.” 

“My dear girl, I see you are a little disappointed. You 
can’t expect to win him so quickly. Patience, my ” 

“Patience, indeed! It’s you who’ve made a muddle of 
it !” 

Louisa’s voice rose a little. 

“ I should like to know what I’ve done, indeed !” 

“ Mr. Kingley’s not the duke at all.” 

“ Not the duke !” 

The voices rose a little higher. 

“No!” 

“ How do you know ?” 


AMARANTH OVERHEARS A CONVERSATION 217 

‘^Ina Springbrook told me. She’^ — sob — ^^knew him 

quite well in England.’^ 

** Then he's an impostor !” called out Mrs. Legge, in a high 

shrill voice ; coming here making us all believe Oh ! 

shouldn't I like to tell him what I think of him. I " 

Mr. White's the duke, and I might have married him 
but for you," sob — sob — sob. And Loo again broke 
down. 

Amaranth did not wait to hear further recriminations or 
revelations, but hastily rebuttoning the little bodice, and 
hiding the moulding and controlling instrument, hurried off 
to Mrs. Blisse and told her the astounding news. 

Louisa did not appear that evening. 

^^The poor girl's overtired," said her mother, who, with 
face rather flushed, entered the supper-room late. 

And how’s the arm now, Mr. White?" she said, in sym- 
pathetic tones, as she settled herself at the table. ‘^Louisa 
and I were often wondering to-day if you were not very dull 
by yourself. I’m afraid you must have thought us very un- 
kind, all leaving you like that ?' ' 

Mr. White's eyebrows became gradually elevated during the 
delivery of this little speech. What had occasioned this re- 
newal of interest in his welfare, he wondered. Mrs. Blisse, 
too, had shown herself equally thoughtful. 

I have had a most delightful day with a very charming 
companion," and he bowed towards Grace, who was sitting 
opposite to him. 

Oh, yes, we got on famously," said Grace. Anna gave 
us a specially nice lunch all by ourselves, and hovered over us 
in the most maternal fashion." 

‘‘It's perfectly shocking the way the modern young women 
behave," whispered Mrs. Blisse to Colonel Tiffin. “I must 
say I am a little surprised at Mrs. Hutchinson leaving her sis- 
ter alone all day with Mr. White." 

“ Other times, other customs," said the old colonel. “ Per- 
K 19 


2i8 


LADY VAUS ELOPEMENT. 


haps the girls are more to be trusted now than in your young 
days. ^ ^ 

‘‘Propriety can never change/* said Mrs. Blisse, senten- 
tiously, and bridling a little. 

“ Yes, I suppose we shall always have Mrs. Grundy with us. 
Have some curry, my dear madam? It*s really wonderful 
what the Norwegians can do if they try ! I wired to the 
steward of my club for the powder, and gave Anna the 
receipt. * * 

Mrs. Blisse declined the proffered dish. 

The polite and sympathetic attentions of the two matrons to 
the duke were continued at intervals during the evening. 

“We’ve hardly seen anything of you since your sad acci- 
dent,” said Mrs. Legge to Mr. John White, under cover of a 
terrible duet which the two Miss Blisses were hammering out 
on the piano. “ We’re all quite angry with Miss Cams for 
monopolising you so much.” 

“ I feel I can never repay her sufficiently for all her kind- 
ness and skill.” 

Mrs. Legge did not look over-pleased. 

“It’s only what any of us would have been most delighted 
to do,” she said, “if we had been given the chance.” 

“But Miss Carus knew just enough about an accident of 
this kind to render me real service; and she is one of the 
most charmingly companionable young ladies I have ever 
met.” 

“Oh, do you think so? Now, I can’t help noticing how 
very forward she is with young men, and talks about the most 
dreadful things — really, I might say immodestly. ’ ’ 

“ She may have a few ideas which incline to alarm elderly 
ladies like yourself ; but she’s transparently honest and sin- 
cere.” 

“ H’m — I don’t feel so sure of that,” and the defeated Mrs. 
Legge withdrew to another part of the salon. 

Nor was Mrs. Blisse behindhand. 


AMAJ^ANTH OVERHEARS A CONVERSATION. 219 

‘‘It's so nice to see you about again, Mr. White," she 
said, finding him in a quiet corner of the room, the rest of 
the party having gathered round MacMeekin, who was at- 
tempting a little imitation of poor Corney Grain. 

Mr. White expressed himself glad that she was glad. 

“Milly was anxious to come and nurse you," the kind- 
hearted woman continued ; “but I couldn’t let her. She’s so 
very sensitive and impulsive; and it doesn’t do to let an at- 
tractive girl like that be too much with an interesting invalid. 
Now, Miss Cams was quite another matter. She’s hard- 
headed, and not too good-looking, and, I have no doubt, 
made an excellent nurse." 

“Most excellent." 

“ Ah, yes ; she’s cut out for a hospital nurse — not too sensi- 
tive nor refined." 

“ Oh, forgive me, she’s most refined !" 

“But very different to my Milly. Why, the child is so 
full of sympathy that she nearly cried her eyes out the night 
of your accident, and has been quite miserable about it. 
That’s the worst of this free hotel life; young people get 
thrown together, form attachments, and " 

Here Mr. John White gave such an obvious start that Mrs. 
Blisse’s flow of conversation suddenly ceased. 

“ Really — I — Miss Blisse hasn’t — er — I mean — er — I have 
seen very little of her," he stammered, feeling seriously 
alarmed ; and fearing that worse remained behind, he strolled 
over to the group standing round the piano. 

And Gerald, the erstwhile King of Loen ! What a deposi- 
tion was there ! A few hours earlier he had been wishing for 
just such a change in the position of affairs. Now that it 
arrived in this incomprehensible fashion, he thought it de- 
testable, and asked what he had done to be suddenly dropped 
like a hot potato ? The head which wears a crown may lie 
weary, indeed; but remove the bauble, and the head will 
most surely feel aggrieved. 

The behaviour of these ladies, amounting almost to a boy- 


220 


LADY FADS ELOPEMENT, 


cot, was not a thing of that evening merely, but continued 
until the party broke up. He was more than dropped. Mrs. 
Legge and her daughter treated him almost rudely. He 
turned to Ina for consolation ; but the girl continued reticent 
and reserved, never seeking his eye nor returning his glance, 
speaking kindly indeed, but showing no warmth of aifection. 

The Legges and Blisses having revolted, Grace devoting 
most of her time to her interesting patient, and Prue and Bob 
being inseparable, this ill-treated young man found himself 
unconsciously drawn more and more to Lady Val. ^^She 
understands me, ’ ’ he thought, and the day after his deposition, 
attached himself to her, carrying sketching stool and easel, 
and chatting of Revelsbury, a dull weight at his heart all the 
time by reason of the serious breach which seemed widening 
betwixt himself and Ina. 

Our village maiden, who accompanied her lover and former 
mistress into the birch woods, said little, maintaining her 
attitude of reserve. But she kept an ever-watchful eye on 
Gerald, noting with rising jealousy the in truth most innocent 
converse Twixt him and Lady Val, actually began to specu- 
late on the most preposterous possibilities, and found herself 
feeling glad that Sir Ambrose had not yet obtained his divorce. 

She had said absolutely nothing on ducal subjects to Mrs. 
Blisse nor Melissa, judging from their behaviour that they 
had somehow obtained an inkling of the truth. She might, 
indeed, have confided in Lady Val or Grace, but a duke’s 
wish was to her a thing to be treated with deference. 

^‘If these gentlemen do not desire to be known,” she rea- 
soned with herself, ^‘why should I, who have accidentally 
discovered their secret, reveal it without any good reason?” 

There was a special object in illuminating Loo’s darkness ; 
but that young lady seemed inclined to keep her counsel, so 
why should Ina interfere further ? 

Things had better take their course,” she decided ; but 
what a crooked course it is ! ” and she sighed. 


THE SHAITANS^ CLUB. 


221 


XXIII. 

THE SHAITANS' CLUB. 

^^Miss Carus, do have some whisky." 

No, thank you, Mr. MacMeekin." 

‘^Oh, but do; it’s our last night, you know." 

I would in a minute if I liked it and wanted it." 

Mr. Robert Carus intervened. 

‘‘But our New Woman don’t like," said he, “and is glad 
she don’t like it, for if she liked it she’d drink it, and she don’t 
like it — female logic, Q.E.D." 

“Bob, what rubbish !’’ protested Grace. 

“Well, I’ve heard or read somewhere of a young lady who 
applied that argument to spinach. MacMeekin, here’s an 
original Scotch riddle for you : If a bothering, blear-eyed 
bagpipe player played a bothering bagpipe, and blew a blus- 
tering blast, where’s the blustering blast the blear-eyed both- 
ering bagpipe player blusterously blew ?’ ’ 

MacMeekin threw his tobacco-pouch at Bob’s head, but 
did not otherwise find answer to the conundrum. 

The Shaitans’ Club was in full swing. All the male portion 
of the hotel guests were there, not even excepting Father 
Christmas. Grace was present by right of membership, and 
sat on one of the low wooden beds, with her interesting 
patient beside her. 

For this occasion, Herre Markus had granted the use of a 
large bedroom in the least-occupied portion of the hotel. 
The looking-glass had been removed from the deal dressing- 
table and hidden beneath one of the beds. In its place stood 
an array of tumblers, four bottles of whisky, three bottles of 
hock, a jug whence issued steam, another jug vapourless, 
sugar, teaspoons, boxes of cigars and Egyptian cigarettes, and 
an unlimited allowance of matches. Through the open win- 

19* 


222 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT, 


dows, adorned with spotless lace curtains and significant rope 
fire-escapes, the fjord could be seen, moonlit and rippling. 

‘‘Hope we sha’n’t choke you with all this smoke, Miss 
Carus,*^ said Mr. John White, thoughtfully. 

“ Oh, dear, no ; but I'll have a cigarette in self-defence." 

There was a small rush for the box. The Boy being first. 

“Order! order!" called out the president, who was in- 
stalled in a deck-chair specially brought up from the verandah, 
the tall cast-iron ornamental stove rising behind him forming 
a background to the presidential throne. 

“ Cold whisky and water for me !" said Father Christmas. 

“I refer to decorum, not spirits, sir," said the president. 

“ Decorum and Shaitans ! Ah !" commented the old gen- 
tleman, drily. “Well, well!" 

The president pretended irefulness. 

“ Don't bring your nasty little insinuations here, sir, or 
your grey hairs shall avail you nothing. Make his whisky 
double strong. It's the sentence of the court !" 

“Ay, ay, sir!" cried Bob, nautically. 

“You are further condemned to tell a story," said the 
president; “but if it has a moral the sentence will be in- 
creased. ' ’ 

Father Christmas protested. He knew no stories, could 
never remember them. But the court was inexorable. 

“ Well, I'll tell you of a bet which was made forty years ago 
at my father's, so the story may have got abroad and been 
repeated once or twice since then." 

The Boy stifled a yawn. His interest in Father Christmas 
had been slight since the old gentleman had invaded his 
favourite sea-trout pool. 

“Staying at our house," said Father Christmas, “were two 
young sprigs of nobility, one a soldier, the other a Cambridge 
undergraduate. The undergraduate, who had not long worn 
tails to his coat, and, I suppose, felt proud of them, stuck to 
his evening-dress after dinner in the smoking-room, though 
the rest of us put on short jackets. The soldier chaffed him 


THE SHAITANS^ CLUB, 


223 

about it, and the other said, angrily, he would wear what he 
liked — both had been drinking rather freely, 

^ If you wear them to-morrow I’ll cut them off,’ said the 
soldier. 

^‘^I’m damned if you do!’ (saving your presence. Miss 
Grace), replied the undergraduate. 

‘ Bet you five pounds to a shilling I do,’ said the soldier. 

^ Done,’ said the undergraduate. 

‘^The next night after dinner the soldier went upstairs, 
changed his coat as usual, and returned into the smoking- 
room with a pair of scissors in his pocket. Then the under- 
graduate went out. ^ He’s going to save his coat and his 
money,’ said the soldier, but in a few minutes he came down 
dressed in swallow-tails as usual. The soldier looked a little 
foolish, and hesitated, but seeing us laughing at him, deter- 
minedly whipped out his scissors, seized the undergraduate 
(who did not resist) round the waist with one arm, and in 
half a minute had snipped off the tails. 

‘ I’ve won my money,’ said he. 

^‘‘Yes; here’s your bob,’ said the undergraduate, ^ and 
your coat. I went into your room just now and thought I 
might as well put it on for the occasion 1 ’ ” 

There was a shout of laughter. 

Father Christmas, telling the story drily, finished unsmiling, 
and forthwith devoted himself to his grog. 

‘^Bulean!” was the president’s verdict. ‘^Now I’ll call 
upon The Boy for a shaitanic story. ’ ’ 

Shaitanic?” queried Dearlove, puzzled. 

^‘Do your best.” 

But what is shaitanic ?” 

Of — er — the nether world.” 

‘‘World?” 

“Well, Hades.” 

“ By Jove ! I do know such a story,” cried The Boy, with 
a burst of memory. “ I suppose everyone here has heard of 
old Bowles, our tutor, who was one of the greatest Greek 


224 


LADY FADS ELOPEMENT, 


scholars of the day. But he wasn’t half a bad chap for all 
that, for he hunted hard, and drank hard, and didn’t at all 
mind rapping out an oath on an occasion. If he’d lived a 
century ago he’d have been a four-bottle man, and died of 
apoplexy at the early age of forty, loved and lamented by all 
who knew him. Well, he had a most fearful illness, and was 
nursed through it by Butters, his scout. One day, when he 
was getting better, he said, solemnly, ‘Butters, I have been 
very ill ; I was nearly going somewhere. ’ 

“ ‘ By George I sir,’ said Butters, ‘ if you’d ha’ gone there 
the college would have gone there too ! ’ ” 

“Yes, poor old Bowles was so tickled with the grim joke,” 
added Mr. John White, “that he made Butters porter the 
following term ; but I believe the man meant it seriously. 
Bowles said it made him laugh so that it quite hastened his 
recovery. ’ ’ 

Desultory talk followed, replenishment of glasses, and 
striking of matches. It was noted that Colonel Tiffin’s eyes 
began to dance merrily. 

“ I think our New Woman could tell us a good story if she 
tried,” said MacMeekin, after a while. 

“And I will try if you like,” said Grace, readily. “ Mr. 
Dearlove’s mention of nursing took my mind back to the 
time when I used to go to a London hospital to see a dear 
friend I had there, one of the nurses. I wonder if you would 
care to hear about a man who was killed by joy?” 

“Say a man who saw a dead donkey at once,” grunted 
Father Christmas ; but no one took any notice of him. 

“The subject seems hardly shaitanic, bulean, or even 
rortesque; but please proceed,” ordered the president. 

“ He was an engraver, one of the cleverest in London, and 
cataract came on. It soon stopped his work, and for a long 
time he saw things dimly. A quack-doctor poured belladonna 
into his eyes, which dilated the pupils, and enabled him to 
see round the cataracts. But that soon failed, and he came to 
the hospital, his poor wife leading him. It was a long time 


THE SHAITANS^ CLUB, 


225 


before they dared operate, and then followed weeks of quiet 
with covered eyes. At last the bandages were removed, and 
he again saw the light of day. He met his wife on the steps 
of the hospital, and saw her distinctly for the first time for 
years. He staggered and fell into her arms, and died in them 
a few minutes later. The doctor said it was heart trou- 
bles induced by strong emotion; but he was killed by 
joy.^’ 

There was a silence after this sad story. Father Christmas 
broke it. 

suppose his wife was a good deal changed, haggard, 
worn with trouble, eh ? And when he last saw her she was a 
blooming, happy woman ’ 

Yes, I think it was so,*^ answered Grace. 

^‘Then it was disappointment, not joy,’* said the old 
gentleman. 

‘‘We will not have anything our New Woman says ques- 
tioned,” interposed the gallant Scotchman. “ Now I am the 
only Shaitan who has done nothing to entertain the guests. I 
was thinking that a valedictory address might be ” 

“Too utterly doleful altogether,” cried Bob. “No; sing 
us a song. ’ ’ 

“ But a valedictory address ” 

“No! no! — A song, MacMeekin. Bother the address!” 
several cried together. 

“ Well, I’ll sing you a Norwegian song,” said the president, 
with a twinkle in his eye. “ I got the translation from a book 
downstairs. It’s not very full of poetry and romance, hardy 
Norsemen and the Vikings. But I felt that it was sufficiently 
appropriate, so got it up specially for this evening. There’s 
only one verse.” 

He rose, held out his hand to obtain silence, and sang the 
following lines to a barbaric melody, his fine baritone voice 
being heard all over the house, and causing the Legges and 
the Blisses to turn uneasily in their beds : 

P 


226 


LADY VADS ELOPEMENT. 


“ I rowed my boat out on the billows 
To catch the cod-fish so early ; 

Then Ole came from Harre willows. 

He was a fellow most burly. 

To anchor near me I’d not permit him, 

And so I took my rod and hit him. 

He swooned and fell ; I cannot tell 
How very happy it made me. 

Sudeli, sudeli, sudeli I” 

Splendid r* ‘‘Bravo!’* “Encore!” “Is that all?” 
cried the Shaitans. 

“Yes, that’s all, but if you want another I’ll sing you the 
‘ Miller’s Daughter.’ Mind, I’m not responsible for the Eng- 
lish. It’s a very mystic production,” and forthwith he sang 
them the following remarkable legend : 

*' There stood three rogues, and to counsel they’d met, 
Skru-ru-rum-rum-peh ! 

What help for me ? The maiden is hid in tra-ra-ra. 

How they the miller’s daughter were to get. 

But where is the cat to capture the rat ? 

The maiden is hid in tra-ra-ra.” 

“What’s scru-ru-thingamabob ?” asked Colonel Tiffin. 

“Where’s tra-ra-ra? That’s the point,” said The Boy. 

“ I don’t quite know,” said MacMeekin, “unless scru-ru, 
etc., is the creak of the rack and the cries of the tortured 
father, who declines to disclose his beloved daughter’s abiding- 
place, she being all the time in tra-ra-ra, which I take to be a 
cave of harmony.” 

“It’s really sufficiently obscure to have been composed by 
one of our modern poets,” said Grace. “ I think Ganymede 
ought to amuse us now.” 

“Yes, Ganymede !” cried everybody. 

The poor youth’s Grecian features showed signs of trouble. 
After much pressing, and more consideration, he ventured a 
fish story. 

“ My Uncle William had one side of a salmon river and 
Lord Ranger the other. One day Uncle William hooked a 


THE SHAITANS' CLUB, 


227 


fish, and played it for an hour or two. He had no gaff, and 
for quite a long time the fish lay and sulked under the opposite 
bank. Lord Ranger’s keeper came along, so he asked him to 
throw in a stone and frighten the fish. The keeper looked 
down, and said he could see the fish, and thought he could 
reach it with his gaff — I forgot to say he was carrying one 
— so my uncle said, ^ Yes, do,’ and the keeper reached down 
and gaffed it.” 

Don’t think much of that story,” said Bob. 

^‘But I forgot to say the keeper went off with the salmon. 
He said it was Lord Ranger’s, because it was gaffed by Lord 
Ranger’s servant on Lord Ranger’s side of the river.” 

What cheek !” said The Boy. 

But whose was the fish?” queried Captain Haulyard. It 
certainly was caught on Lord Ranger’s water.” 

'^Yes, whose was it?” said MacMeekin, rubbing his 
chin. 

Why, of course it was — no, it wasn’t ’ ’ said Bob, check- 

ing himself. 

The question worried the Shaitans mightily, and the fisher- 
men discussed it hotly from every point of view, deciding 
nothing. In fact, the ownership of that salmon remains a 
mystery to the present day. 

It’s clearly a question for the House of Lords,” said the 
president, ^^so anyone who feels aggrieved can apply to our 
hereditary legislators. Ganymede, the curse of the Shaitans 
be on you for raising it !” 

^‘But I never thought,” protested Ganymede. 

‘‘No, you never do think,” interposed the president. 
“ Don’t do it again. Confusing us with your wretched legal 
conundrums. Captain Haulyard, for Heaven’s sake spin us 
a yarn — a sea yarn.” 

“ There are no sea yarns now worthy of the name,” said 
the captain. “ The navy’s a different thing since Marryat’s 
day.” 

“ Oh, you know heaps of stories,” said Grace. 


228 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT. 


Captain Haulyard pondered a moment, smiled to himself, 
and said : 

‘‘ Well, I’ll tell you a very short one about — yes, more ox 
less about the sea. I was at my club, and ordered a lobster 
for supper. It was an indifferent lobster, and I called the 
waiter. The waiter thought it all right, so I sent for the 
steward. What do you think the fellow told me ? That it 
was a very good lobster for the time of year !” 

‘‘ That reminds me of a thing that happened to me a long 
time ago,” said Colonel Tiffin, who had apparently been 
dozing, but now opened his eyes. 

‘‘If it’s a tiger story, do stop him. We’ve had them all 
over and over again,” whispered Mr. John White to Grace. 

“ Sh — , there’s no stopping a tiger story, and he always 
varies them a little, ’ ’ she answered, in a low tone, for his ear 
alone. 

“ It was when I was a little more than a baby,” continued 
the colonel, in rather husky tones, and stopping to puff his 
cigar fully alight. “ I went with my nurse to a grocer’s, and 
there was a footman in livery buying eggs. He was holding 
a paper-bag full of ’em in his hand, and objected to one 
which was cracked. The shopkeeper told him that the 
freshest eggs usually cracked, as they had the thinnest shells. 
So the idiot turned all the good eggs out of his bag, and had 
them replaced by cracked ones. I suppose you won’t believe 
it ; but it’s perfectly true. A little more whisky, if you 
please, my boy. ’ ’ 

“It’s wonderful what simple people there are in the worlds” 
said Ganymede, dutifully filling his father’s glass. 

“Now, White, it’s your turn,” said the president. 

“ I must plead a broken arm.” 

“ Nothing less than a broken wind will excuse you.” 

“Well, I can tell you a shooting story,” said White, laugh- 
ing. “ There was a Scotch gamekeeper I used to go out 
with a great deal, who was a great man for spinning a yarn. 
He told us very solemnly that he saw a hare run through a 


THE SHAITANS^ CLUB, 


229 


village, and that the cobbler, who was sitting at work, started 
up and threw a piece of wax at it, and hit it straight in the 
middle of the forehead. Another hare coming the other way 
ran into the first one, and the two were glued together by the 
bit of wax. The cobbler caught both. The keeper said it 
must be a true story, because he saw it ! Whenever he talked 
in this strain, a young city man, who was generally shooting 
with us, used to throw cold water over him by saying, ‘ Oh, 
do tell us some more. I do enjoy it so. I am a beautiful 
liar myself r ** 

‘‘So you are said Colonel Tiffin, who had been nod- 
ding, and just managed to catch the last words. “So you 
are ! Did I ever tell you the story of that tiger which the 
Rajah of 

“Stop him,’^ whispered Grace, “or it will last an 
hour. * * 

“I think I may call upon Mr. Arriva to amuse us,” inter- 
posed White, with great presence of mind. “ He has travelled 
far and wide, and ” 

“ Travellers’ stories are ” continued Father Christmas. 

“Most remarkable,” concluded Mr. John White. 

The colonel, finding no notice taken of his prefatory re- 
mark, again lapsed into somnolence. 

Lestrus had been sitting silent all the evening, and neither 
drank nor smoked. To please Gerald, he came to the club 
meeting against his own inclination. During the day he had 
been the prey of a strange vague presentiment of coming evil, 
what he knew not. He was eager to leave Loen, absurdly 
anxious, as he admitted to himself. Recollections of events 
long past but awful seemed crowding back upon him, and the 
pangs of remorse racked him. These stories of hospitals and 
sickness increased his gloom. As he raised his head when 
addressed by Mr. John White, more than one there felt almost 
alarmed at the strange wild look in the man’s dark, deep-set 
eyes. 

“Yes,” said Lestrus, slo*v\dy, in a deep voice, “I can tell 
20 


230 


LADY VADS ELOPEMENT. 


you a tale — a traveller’s tale. You will call it remarkable. 
It was something more to me. 

was in South America, exactly where matters not. To 
reach a point by a certain time might be a matter of life or 
death to many persons; so we travelled by night, as the 
moonlight enabled my Indian guide to make out the trail. 
Suddenly the man stopped and uttered an exclamation. A 
curiously carved pipe which he always carried was missing. 
It was a thing of great value to him. He begged me to stay 
where I was while he went back on the trail and hunted for it. 
I waited in the gloomy forest an hour or more, and then, 
thinking I could make out the path, went on. Presently I 
came to an open space, in the centre of which stood a weird- 
looking tree. Its immense trunk was almost hidden by 
drooping foliage. Its branches were wide-spreading, and 
from them hung down a veil of fine tendrils, which though 
there was no wind, waved to and fro. I felt fascinated, and 
approached it closer, the moving tendrils seeming almost to 
beckon me on. I went closer, and still closer, until I could 
touch the leaves. The tendrils quivered and stretched out 
towards me as if intensely excited, and I could see even the 
smaller branches shaking. With it all, there was a strange 
rustling, humming sound. 

‘‘I do not believe in the supernatural, or I might have 
deemed that strange tree a thing not of this earth. I tried to 
laugh my fears away. Surely it must be a tribe of monkeys 
shaking the branches, I thought, and reached forward my arm 
to push aside the foliage, and enter beneath the spreading 
branches, where I supposed I could look up into the tree, and 
see the cause of this terrifying thing. 

‘‘But I had not advanced a foot before I felt myself sur- 
rounded on all sides by these deadly tendrils. I could go no 
farther forward, I could not retreat, and oh, horror ! the tree 
had me in its deadly embrace. Tendrils were around my 
ankles, my legs ; they were curling round my waist, over my 
shoulders, and round my neck, tighter and tighter. I have 


THE SHAITANS^ CLUB, 


231 


faced death many times, but never a death so dreadful. Too 
late I recognised that I had fallen a victim to a deadly but 
rare tree, which the Indians had often told me of. Tighter 
and tighter those snake-like things clutched me. I struggled ; 
but they were as serpents, all eager to wind themselves round 
about me, crowding one over the other. I seemed to fill the 
forest with my cries. Sweat was running from every pore. I 
could not move a finger now. I was bound from head to foot, 
could feel the ever-increasing strength of the ghastly embrace, 
and was being slowly lifted off the ground. My breath came 
in short gasps, my whole body seemed being crushed. Then 
I lost consciousness. 

I came to myself lying on the ground where I had first 
seen the tree. Four Indians were bending over me. My 
guide had met with them while going back over the trail to 
find his pipe. They heard my cries, and had just been in 
time to save me, cutting me out of that living tomb at the 
peril of their lives.” 

They listened to this gruesome story with strained attention. 
There was a general sigh of relief as he ended. Lestrus 
Arriva’s manner of telling it was as thrilling as the incident. 
At first speaking quietly, as the story proceeded he seemed to 
become oblivious of his listeners, and to be re-enacting the 
terrible scene. All the terror, all the horror of the situation 
were told in his voice and scared face. Beads of perspiration 
stood out on his forehead. His story ended, he sat panting 
and exhausted, with his face in his hands. There was no 
questioning its truth. 

Sudden death has no terror for me,” he said, after a long 
pause, ‘‘but the embrace of that — Oh !” and he shuddered. 

“ Grace, I know you are dying to tell us its species, classify 
it, and trot out the Latin names, and take all the romance out 
of it, but please don’t. Let it stop a thing of mystery,” said 
Bob, imploringly. 

Grace laughed a little nervously in reply, and the spell cast 
over them by Lestrus was broken. 


232 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT. 


Another Norwegian song, MacMeekin,^* suggested Cap- 
tain Haulyard. 

“I only know one other. It’s of a simple, tnisting, 
country maiden.” 

Sing it by all means.” 

‘‘Well, here goes then. There’s no scru-ru-ru-rum-peh in 
this, though, perhaps, just a suspicion of tra-ra-ra. 

“ ' I see your shadow yonder, 

Oh, dearest, sweetest friend ! 

But longer you must wander 
Till word to you I send. 

For I have forgotten to put out the token. 

You need not go mad though my word thus be broken. 

Remember that father is home and is watching. 

Oh, dearest, sweetest friend ! Hush-a-baby-hush-a-baby-by.’ 

“ ' ril rock my little brother 
Until he falls asleep. 

But me there is no other 
Who him can quiet keep ; 

And if you are freezing, pray go to the stable ; 

I’ll send for you there just as soon as I’m able; 

For father is going out soon ; pray be careful. 

Oh, dearest, sweetest friend. Hush-a-baby-hush-a-baby-by.’ ” 

“Ah! I thought the Norwegian lasses were not quite so 
demure as they looked, ’ ’ said Captain Haulyard. 

They never were what they looked. All women were born 
actresses, was the opinion of Father Christmas. 

“It’s all the men’s doing,” protested Grace. “Girls are 
trained in dissimulation as soon as they can walk ; certain lines 
of conduct are set out for them ; the true woman is always hid- 
den behind a veil, and anyone who rebels or oversteps what 
are called the convenances of society becomes a sort of social 
leper.” 

“Why, oh, why does our New Woman put all this on the 
shoulders of us poor men?” exclaimed MacMeekin. “Are 
not old women at the bottom of it ? We men hate deception 
in women ; we like ’em natural. That’s why we all like you 
so much. ’ ’ 


THE SHAITANS^ CLUB, 


233 


Grace laughed merrily. 

You like a woman to be modest?’* 

Yes, certainly,” said MacMeekin. 

^^But modesty is unnatural. No child is born modest. 
Darwin proved most clearly that modesty, or what we call 
purity, is simply a fashion varying not only in different coun- 
tries but even in different classes in England.” 

So every modest girl is a gay and festive deceiver?” said 
MacMeekin. ‘‘Well, truly, we live and learn !” 

“No,” said Grace. “There’s naturally a strong moral 
sense of right and wrong in most people, and when modesty 
has been drilled into a child as something right, it becomes in 
most cases second nature.” 

“ It’s a tolerably thin veneer sometimes,” remarked Father 
Christmas. 

“I don’t think the ordinances of society should be placed 
under the microscope of the scientist,” said Mr. John White. 
“They work fairly well. We don’t want to be all savages 
again. Now, Kingley, you are the only one who has done 
nothing this evening. What will you give us, a song or a 
story ?’ ’ 

Gerald had no carefully prepared impromptu ready, nor had 
he inherited the musical gifts of that sweet-voiced father of his, 
but the more he expressed inability the more they pressed him, 
suspecting the debated modesty. 

“Read your letter from Revelsbury. That is something 
shaitanic,” said Lestrus, with a cynical smile. 

“ Oh, that will interest no one here,” said Gerald. 

“ Who can say ? One half the world doesn’t know how the 
other half lives. More’s the pity. Spread the news.” 

“Yes, read it,” said Grace, who knew its contents. 


20* 


234 


LADY VADS ELOPEMENT. 


XXIV. 

^^SIR HARALD GOODENOUGH. ’’ 

Gerald attempted a preface to the Revelsbury letter. 

It is written/* he said, by a friend who is trying to carry 
out a few reforms in an English agricultural village where the 
people are in some respects worse off than the villeins of the 
Middle Ages, who at least had a claim on their lord for the 
bare necessities of life. Their pay is low, their work almost 
unceasing, and they have no future but the workhouse, unless 
their children have got on in the world and can help them. If 
they suffer any wrong they dare not protest for fear of losing 
work, or home, or both. Well, here is the letter : 

‘ Dear Kingley, — You will like to have the latest news of 
Revelsbury. 

‘ Twenty of the new cottages are being roofed, and almost 
every man in the village has applied for one. The anxiety of 
the poor creatures to be independent as to their homes, to be 
safe from eviction, is almost pathetic. ‘‘We’re so often shifted 
about,” said one old man to me, “ there’s no making a home.” 
They all look upon the half acre of garden-ground adjoining 
their cottage as a perfect godsend. “It’s worth double to me 
what an allotment would be a furlong off.” “And it’ll help 
keep us for a month or two if I am out of work,” more than 
one of them has said. Only about a third of the applicants 
care for more land than half an acre, but they are the best edu- 
cated and most energetic, and will surely rise to be small 
farmers of the right sort. 

“ ‘ One and all mean to buy the cottages out and out if they 
can possibly manage it, and, after all, the instalments spread 
over forty years are not much more than the rent. These big 
gardens will mean more food for the youngsters, and the 
boarded floors will, I hope, abolish rheumatism. We may 


^^SIR HARALD GOODENOUGH:' 


235 


look for great physical improvement in the men and their 
families in consequence. The damp, old, brick-floored bed- 
rooms, below flood-level, are too awful to think of. I am 
revelling in the delight of managing all these matters, but 
groaning because this deserving class is so neglected by the 
Government. What we, or rather you, are doing should be 
done all over the country. Compulsion is the one thing 
needful. Our supine local authorities have power to do 
these things, but have few absolute duties, and no inclination. 
Self, self, self, seems the foundation-stone of human nature. 

‘ I have a sorry tale to tell you of poor Job Beesley. The 
farmer wanted the cottage for another man, and told Beesley 
to go. Job said, Where ^ That’s your business,” said the 
farmer. ‘ ‘ But I have five young children, ’ ’ urged Job. ‘ ‘ Like- 
wise your business,” said the farmer. Job would not go, and 
was in the end evicted. On the last day he heard of an empty 
cottage two miles off, which had been condemned by the med- 
ical officer of health, I am told. He took up his abode there. 
The rain came down cats and dogs through the roof, and they 
all spent the night dodging the water. The next day Job and 
his wife wandered off again, the children following, crying. 
They are now in a cottage some distance away, the owner of 
which says he will probably want it in a few months’ time, so 
out they will have to go again. I never heard anything about 
it until it was all over. 

^ There was a worse case in Dorningchester. A man and 
woman and seven young children were turned out for some 
whim on the part of the landlord, slept out of doors for two 
nights, and then, finding no cottage, had to go into the work- 
house. The man was actually in work at the time, a fine 
young fellow of twenty-eight, and now those devils of guardians 
will not give him a day’s leave to seek work and another 
home. I suppose they bear him a grudge for coming in. Of 
course he may discharge himself ; but what could he do with 
his wife and children until he found a cottage? We must let 
him have one of your new ones. 


236 


LADY VADS ELOPEMENT, 


^ Poor Thwaite is dead of the cancer. You remember 
how the guardians refused him relief because he happened to 
be out when the doctor called to see him, and was seen com- 
ing out of the ‘‘Spotted Trout/* They tried to make out it 
was drunkard’s liver — fancy it, on eleven shillings a week ! I 
sent him to the hospital at Riding, and there was no doubt as 
to the complaint. Even after the hospital physician’s report, 
the Union doctor gave a written report to the guardians that 
the complaint was something very different to cancer, and 
urged them to get the man into the workhouse. I made them 
all ashamed of themselves, and they at last granted the unfor- 
tunate man a few shillings a week. But only two or three 
days after the doctor had urged his removal four miles to the 
comfortable workhouse, the poor persecuted fellow died, with 
his wife and children around him, I am glad to say. Oh, that 
we had a court of appeal from the decisions of these callous 
guardians of the poor^ save the mark 1 I called a meeting 
of the villagers, and we publicly condemned their brutality. 
May it make them more careful in future. 

“ ‘ I am trying to do the farmers a good turn ; but they are 
prejudiced, and cannot understand why they should not make 
money with as little trouble now as they did thirty years ago. 
Turn the land over, scatter seeds, see it grow ; reap, thresh, 
and sell it ; keep a little stock for a little manure ; and that, to 
many of them, seems to be their idea of the beginning and 
end of agriculture. Most of them have too much land. 
Half the land, properly cultivated, would grow nearly as 
much. Small details are neglected. They are careless of 
profits from such things as poultry, dairy-produce, bacon- 
curing, fruit, bees, and the supply of provender to the people 
round about. Fancy, not one of the few farmers here sells 
butter, and only one milk ! The poor have no milk at all, for 
they could only buy skimmed milk, and there is none. I 
cannot buy hay, or oats, or straw of them for less than I 
should pay in London. Well, I’m going to try and get them 
to co-operate in the matter of selling, to take up dairy- farming. 


^^SIR IIARALD GOODENOUGH:^ 


237 


to get their daughters to rear poultry and study dairy-work 
scientifically ; but, alas ! the girls have been brought up to 
finer things — music, painting, etc., with the result that they 
grumble vastly at country life. 

‘ When you come back, we will draw up new agreements. 
What do you say to giving the labourers shares in the farms, 
paying them part in wages and part in share of profits ? But 
the wages and garden produce would have to be enough to 
just keep them in bad years. However, there is time to talk 
about that. 

am still hammering away over the Tin Tabernacle ; 
but the trustees are as obstinate as ever. Now I’ll go to 
the Attorney-General, who has immense powers in charity 
matters. 

‘‘ ‘ I have been stirring up the Poor Law Guardians with a 
long pole lately. They came in great force to oppose me on 
the adequate relief question. One and all, clergymen, coun- 
try gentlemen, farmers, tradesmen, all fearful of increasing 
their rates, voted against giving the destitute poor sufficient 
allowances to obtain the necessaries of life. Just think of it ! 
It means that the very poor, who have no means of support 
whatever, must go into the workhouse, or starve ! Then I 
tried to get the children boarded out with foster parents, and 
nearly succeeded. Some of the older members of the Board 
influenced the others by saying that the present system 
worked so well that it would be unwise to change it. 
Heavens ! Why, we keep the children in the House until 
fifteen or sixteen, thoroughly pauperise them, making them 
look on the workhouse as a home, and then turn them out 
absolute dummies, the girls not able to brush a carpet or dust 
a chair. Their feeding is indifferent, and their treatment is 
often cruel. 

^‘^You should hear the things that are said about me! 
Never in the history of the county has anyone dared to say a 
word for the poor to the extent of opposing the powers that 
be. I am regarded as a most presumptuous man. Clergymen 


238 


LADY VADS ELOPEMENT. 


in particular attack me; and I really don’t know why. One 
informed the guardians the other day that I was a mere noto- 
riety hunter, a quack friend of the poor, a thirteenpence- 
halfpenny individual. 

‘ But what hurts me most is the abominable way that at- 
tempts are made to prevent the poor in the House exercising 
their right of complaint. I brought a matter of the kind 
before the guardians, and they straightway passed a resolution 
approving the master’s conduct. And this, my friend, is local 
government ! Believe me, that in these matters, the housing 
of the poor, and sanitary affairs, local government in country 
districts is an utter failure. Some high authority to whom 
any of us, not merely the poor, can appeal is wanted, and 
duties rather than powers should be placed on the shoulders 
of the local people, with a good lump of a fine if they are 
not carried out. It is little use having given the poor the 
power of electing these men, as there are so few good candi- 
dates. No working-men have the time, nor many the knowl- 
edge, and some would as likely as not be discharged if they 
put up for such positions. In fact, at Riding, not ten miles 
from here, a working-man who was elected a guardian was 
immediately discharged by his employer. But the man’s 
friends subscribed together and kept him on the Board, for 
he could get no other work. 

‘ In everything I am carrying out here Harry Trotover is 
my right-hand man. He is a fine young fellow, just the 
stamp of young Englishman of whom one could wish there 
were more. He is working ’ 

The rest of the letter is about private affairs. I hope \ 
have not wearied you by reading so much,” said Gerald. 

^^I was absorbed in it,” said Grace, sympathetically, ‘‘and 
I am sure anyone who didn’t feel some interest in such a sub- 
ject must be absolutely heartless, and care very little indeed 
about the welfare of England. ’ ’ 

“I’d like to have a talk with you to-morrow, Kingley, 


<<SIR HARALD GOODENOUGW^ 


239 

about these matters/' said Mr. John White; they interest 
me greatly." 

‘‘ I have a budget of letters from Mr. Goodenough. We 
can run through them together," replied Gerald. 

Now," said MacMeekin, it's past midnight. Will some- 
one wake up Father Christmas and Colonel Tiffin, and we’ll 
sing ‘ Auld Lang Syne.' I wonder if we shall ever have such 
another meeting. Come along — cross hands — no — so. Gany- 
mede, how stupid you are ! Now, I’ll start it." 

Ina heard them, and their song carried her back to auld 
lang syne at Revelsbury — to the old seat under the apple tree 
by the clear stream ! Ah ! happy day when the heart is 
young, and, foreseeing nothing, one cries, Love springs eter- 
nal in the human breast!" Was it possible that the warm 
affection Gerald felt for her in those halcyon days was dying 
away ? And the poor child lay awake for an hour worrying, 
and finally cried herself to sleep. 

Some of the Shaitans looked at one another as they sang, 
and their hearts fell a little. Grace, usually so brisk and 
lively, found a wee little drop of a tear dimming her eyes. 

am growing sentimental I What will happen next, I 
wonder ?' ' she said to herself. 

Mr. John White noticed it. 

hope this is not good-bye for always. Miss Cams. I 
have been asking your sister if I may call on her in London, 
so I hope we may meet." 

hope so," said Grace, and her face brightened. 

A few minutes later the Shaitans and their guests went to 
bed. Some were gloomy at this ending of their merry meet- 
ings, two or three walked with uncertain footsteps. Grace 
Cams, it may be added, was particularly cheerful. 

As Gerald was walking down the long passage on tip-toe, 
needlessly fearful of disturbing people who had been thor- 
oughly awakened by the great Scotch parting song. Captain 
Haulyard, who was following, touched him on the shoulder. 


240 


LADY FADS ELOPEMENT. 


May I have a word with you, Kingley?’* 

Of course. Come into my room.^^ 

They entered a little wooden apartment. Gerald struck a 
light, gave his guest the only chair, and sat down on the bed. 

‘‘You mentioned a Mr. Goodenough, ^ ' said Captain Haul- 
yard. 

“ Yes j the writer of the letter I read to you.’^ 

“ I knew a man of that name some years ago, but lost sight 
of him under rather painful circumstances. ’ * 

What was your friend like 

“A little above the middle height, and broad-shouldered, 
with blue-grey eyes, hair dark rather than fair, and — well, I 
am afraid I canT describe him any further.’* 

“ Had he a squarish face, and wore a beard ?” 

“Yes; but only a short, pointed beard such as naval men 
wear. ’ ’ 

“ My friend has a little daughter named ” 

“ Gwendoline ?” 

“Yes.” 

“I believe it’s him. Let me see — she’d be about eight 
now.” 

“ I should think that is her age.” 

“ I am so glad to hear of him again. But you spoke of him 
as Mr. Goodenough. He was knighted after a very daring 
piece of seamanship off the west coast of Africa. The ship 
was lying in an exposed anchorage, and he sailed her out in 
the teeth of a hurricane and saved her.” 

“ Then he’s a captain. I never ” 

“I am not surprised he said nothing of his rank, poor 
fellow.” 

“ I hardly like to ask you his story.” 

“I see no harm in telling it. There’s nothing to his dis- 
credit. He was a good officer, and rose rapidly. His uncle, 
old Sir Robert Goodenough, who for many years was member 
for Hustington, was one of the Lords of the Admiralty under 
the Government of the day, and Goodenough’s abilities and 


^^SIR HARALD GOODENOUGHy 


241 


devotion to his duties, together with his uncle’s influence, 
made him a commander by the time he was thirty. You know, 
when two men are equally deserving, and one has influence, 
and the other none ’ ’ 

The one rises.” 

Exactly.” 

And even when they were not equal, the one with the in- 
fluence often ” 

‘^Exactly. But as I was saying, Goodenough was made 
commandei:. Shortly after his promotion, he had the good 
fortune to have the young German, Prince Schwarzenhausen, 
who entered our Navy about that time, placed under his care. 
The prince was much attached to him, and Goodenough, 
who was a general favourite, became a persona grata at court. 
There he had the bad fortune to meet one of the loveliest she- 
devils God ever created, maid of honour to Her Serene High- 
ness the Princess of Blumenberg. He was smitten, as were 
most men who knew her, but I have reasons to believe that 
she was all the time in love with that worthless scoundrel. 
Count Zotoroff, who appeared to care very little about her. 
The end of it was that, partly out of pique, and partly because 
he was a wealthy man, she accepted and married Good- 
enough.” 

Not a very happy marriage, I should imagine?” 

No ; he obtained leave for a year, and there was a child 
born, soon after which his ship was ordered to China. He, 
unfortunately, left his wife full powers of disposal over his 
property. It seems that she had kept up an acquaintance with 
Zotoroff. Whether he loved her or not I cannot say ; but to 
cut a long yarn short, she turned every bit of poor Good- 
enough’s property into gold, and went off to Paris with the 
count, leaving the baby behind. In fact, my poor wife took 
care of it. As soon as my friend heard the dreadful news, he 
applied for leave to retire from the service. When he fetched 
the child away from us, he seemed quite a broken man, and 
told me his means were so small that he intended to lead a re- 

L q 


21 


242 


LADY VALS ELOPEMENT. 


tired life in the country ; but we never heard from him after- 
wards, nor knew where he had pitched his tent.** 

And his wife?’* asked Gerald. 

Zotoroff spent her money, and then deserted her. She 
came to England, and, to avoid reopening the scandal, was 
helped a little, on the condition she left the country. I know 
no more of her.” 

‘‘A sad story,** said Gerald. ‘‘I can understand him 
throwing himself heart and soul into the little reforms at 
Revelsbury. Work is the only way to drive care of this 
kind from the mind. May I tell the story to my friends 
here ?” 

‘‘Why — yes,** said Captain Haulyard, with some hesita- 
tion, “ if you wish ; but ask them not to let it go any ” 

They were interrupted by a slight scream, and heard the 
shrill voice of a female exclaim : 

“ Who is it ? What do you want ? Go away !** 

“Who sleeps in the next room?” cried Captain Haulyard, 
rushing to the door. 

“Mrs. Grundy,” said Gerald. 

In the passage they found Colonel Tiffin holding on to a 
door-handle and swaying to and fro. 

“*M glad you’ve come,” said the gallant colonel, very 
huskily. “It’s postivly shcandlus. This elderly female’s 
gone into m’ bedroom, and locksh herself in.” 

“But it isn’t your bedroom,” said Gerald. 

“Oh, yesh it is,” said Colonel Tiffin, with drunken grav- 
ity. “Oh, yesh; I know my bedroom. S’ppose you’ll be 
tellin’ me I’m drunk nex’ ?’* 

“What’s your number?” said Gerald. 

“Don’t know,” said the colonel, “what’sh more, don’t 
care ! Come, let m* in, you wicked old woman, ’ ’ and he 
hammered on the door. 

“Come and have another go of whisky. Van Bombkin,** 
said Captain Haulyard, taking the old fellow by the arm. 
“ It will give the lady time to clear out.’* 


THE GREAT DIVORCE. 


243 


^^Oh, yesh, give th* lady time clear out, shert'nly,** and 
Colonel Tiffin allowed himself to be led away in the direction 
of his own room. 


XXV. 

THE GREAT DIVORCE. 

Gerald and Captain Haulyard kept a considerate silence 
on the subject of Colonel Tiffin's attempted invasion of Mrs. 
Blisse's sleeping apartment. But bearing in mind the acous- 
tic properties of Norwegian buildings, it was not surprising 
that those in neighbouring rooms heard Just enough of the 
incident to misunderstand the bearings of the case. When 
^‘Mrs. Grundy," as the Shaitans called her, sailed into the 
spisesaly she was not unobservant of the intelligent smiles 
which were interchanged by the rest of the guests who had 
already commenced their breakfast. 

The strong-headed old warrior, author of this British ma- 
tron's equivocal position, but absolutely oblivious of his 
whimsical whisky-induced error, was unconcernedly working 
through a plate of sea-trout, and hardly noticed the entrance 
of the good lady into the room. Mrs. Legge and her daugh- 
ter ignored her altogether. The rest mostly regarded her 
with an amused expression, which fairly exasperated this 
staunch upholder of British proprieties. 

In the preparation for the Blisse picnic, the incident so 
cruelly misunderstood was more or less forgotten, and about 
ten o'clock the whole party, excepting Lestrus, set forth up 
the valley, some walking, some driving, towards the outfall 
of the lake, whence a steamer was to take them up the Loen 
Vand. They were to disembark within a mile of one of those 
rivers of ice which flow down inclines from the Josterdalsbrae 
right into the midst of the summer vegetation of the sheltered 
valleys. 

The land journey being so short, and the ravine down 


244 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT, 


which the ice river trended from the glacier being so circum- 
scribed, Mrs. Blisse found to her annoyance that there were 
none of those opportunities for a display of generalship in the 
arrangement of couples as had been afforded Mrs. Legge by 
the expedition to the source of the Visnaes River. She was, 
moreover, quite unable to detach Mr. John White from 
Grace. 

The only consolation she received for this day of considera- 
ble worry and expense was some slight attention paid to Ama- 
ranth by The Boy. He, however, also devoted himself for a 
time to Ina, whose regard for him had increased not a little 
since the day of Gerald’s arrival. In the girl’s eyes he 
seemed to have done a noble thing in sacrificing his own feel- 
ings, and working so strenuously to bring about that by no 
means enduring reconciliation between her and her lover. 
There was, too, all the glamour of a new experience — this 
associating on equal terms with a young lord. Knowing his 
station, she felt less able to repel what now were, in very 
truth, nothing more than ordinary polite attentions to a very 
pretty girl, though Gerald did not view them in that light. 

‘‘If that chap neglects her like this, I must try and cheer 
her up,” said Lord Caterham to himself, and forthwith made 
the endeavour. 

“ He’s still hankering after her, and she seems half-inclined 
to listen to him ; but she has taken away my right to inter- 
fere,” thought Gerald, bitterly, and tried to drive the subject 
from his mind by carrying on an animated conversation with 
Lady Val, who never tired of hearing stories of Revelsbury 
and the Independent Gentleman. In fact, Mr. Goodenough 
was gradually assuming the proportions of a hero in her eyes, 
by reason of his fights with the local authorities in the interests 
of those poor neighbours of hers, whom she had known so 
long and yet knew so little. 

Ina was a little uneasy in this connection. 

“ He seems quite taken with Lady Val,” she thought. “ I 
wonder if there would be anything between them supposing 


THE GREAT DIVORCE. 


245 

Sir Ambrose did get his divorce? But I’m glad that Legge 
girl has given him up. ’ ’ 

After the departure of Mrs. Blisse’s party, Lestrus Arriva 
wandered aimlessly about the empty hotel, and received a 
lecture from Anna on his folly in losing this opportunity of 
seeing the glacier and the beautiful ice cave. Finally, he 
fetched a leather-covered box from his room, unlocked it, 
and seated himself at the writing-table in the salon. Placing 
the key of a cypher before him, he commenced a long de- 
patch. It was a laborious proceeding, each letter being rep- 
resented by a group of figures. More than once he rose from 
his seat, and moodily paced the apartment, as if in deep 
thought. 

During one of these periods of gloomy meditation, a steam 
whistle sounded. He raised his eyes to the window. Lying 
off the quay was the Faleide launch, to which Herre Markus 
and his man, Sievert, were already hastening in one of the 
rowing boats, high of prow and stern. 

A solitary passenger came ashore — a stout, plethoric, thick- 
necked man of fifty, with streaky whiskers, grey and black 
alternating curiously, giving the idea that for some weeks, 
perhaps since the stranger’s arrival in this wild country, the 
application of some accustomed colouring matter had been 
discontinued. 

Lestrus placed the partly written letter and cypher in his 
despatch-box, turned the key, and proceeded to his bedroom. 
Returning shortly, he found the new arrival talking loudly to 
Anna. 

Where do you say they’ve gone to?” he was asking. 

‘^To the glacier,” answered the woman. 

Can they go farther? Will they come back here?” 

Ja vel^ they will come back. There is nowhere else for 
them to go to. Ah ! Herre Arriva, this gentleman is a friend 
of Mrs. Hutchinson.” 

Lestrus bowed, passed through the glass doors on to the bal- 
21 * 


246 


LADY VArS ELOPEMENT, 


cony, and thence by outside steps to the road. He was not 
well pleased to be brought into contact with this new arrival, 
whose manner of speech was so over-bearing, and red bloated 
face almost repulsive. He was in no mood to converse with 
strangers, the fit of depression which had come upon him the 
previous day continuing. 

The sun which had shone brightly on the outgoing pleas- 
ure seekers was now hidden by heavy clouds, and away over 
the mountain-tops, w^hich rose at the back of Olden, hung a 
pall of slaty vapour. At long intervals a streak of vivid light- 
ning zigzagged across the gloom, but the distance was great, 
and the roll of the thunder unheard. 

The two men met at the midday meal. The sale of wine 
is not prohibited in Norwegian hotels, and the new-comer 
drank freely of champagne, which unlocked his tongue. 

‘‘I’m damned if I ever thought I was going to get here,” 
he announced, loudly. “ I went to the wrong Loen, one in 
the Vallavik Fjord, miles the other side of Bergen.” 

“Really!” said Lestrus, uninterested. 

“ Fortunately, I met a man, named Mogers, who had been 
here. He came with me as far as Faleide. Have some 
wine?” 

“ No, thank you.” 

“ Been here long ?” 

“ Some weeks.” 

“ Then you know Mrs. Hutchinson and her companion?” 

“ Miss Cams?” 

“ No, the man.” 

“Mr. Cams?” 

“Oh! don’t he call himself Hutchinson? He did in 
Germany.” 

“No, Robert Cams.” 

“ What’s he like?” 

“Tall, slim, fair-skinned, a slight moustache, and blue 
eyes. Perhaps you will tell me why you ask?” 

The new-comer re-filled and re-emptied his glass. 


THE GREAT DIVORCE, 


247 

Well, you may as well know now as later on, for it’ll all 
come out when they return.” 

‘‘lam all attention,” said Lestrus, fixing his dark eyes on 
the speaker. 

“Well, that woman who calls herself Mrs. Hutchinson is 
my wife. ’ ’ 

“And you are Mr. ” 

“ Sir Ambrose Val.” 

“Ah!” 

There was a sudden change of expression on Arriva’s face, 
a gleam of recognition — of hatred. It was gone before the 
baronet, who looked up on hearing the exclamation, could 
notice it. 

“ You said ” 

“ Nothing. Go on, I am interested.” 

“She had everything a woman could want, but ran away 
with a lover ” 

“ Brother?” 

“Well, I can’t say; it may be so. If it is. I’ll drag her 
home somehow; if not. I’ll have my divorce 1 I’ve chased 
’em all over the Continent. That little devil of a sister of 
hers misled me in Germany, and left me on the top of a 
mountain. But the game’s fairly trapped now. Ha 1 ha 1 
There’s no getting away from Loen without passing here. 
How do you call that woman ?’ ’ 

“ By the handbell.” 

Anna entered the room, rendered some small ordinary ser- 
vice, and left them. 

“I think we have met before,” said Lestrus, looking Sir 
Ambrose full in the face. 

“Oh! have we? I don’t think so,” and the champagne 
glass was again filled. 

“ At Bow Street. You have much changed since then.’^ 

“I don’t remember.” 

“ It was the case of the Pole, Magdalinski. You succeeded 
in obtaining his extradition by proving that the blow he 


248 


ZADV VAVS ELOPEMENT. 


Struck for Poland was a criminal and not a political 
offence.** 

Oh, yes. There was such a case. But you ** 

I was in court all through the proceedings, but did not 
speak to you.** 

I thought not.’* 

‘‘You of course knew it was a political offence?” suggested 
Lestrus, and awaited the reply with evident anxiety. 

“Well, perhaps I did,” said Sir Ambrose; “ but the man 
couldn’t prove it. He had no witnesses, and it was not my 
business to let him loose. Such ruffians are best out of the 
country. ’ * 

“And in Siberian mines!” cried Lestrus, excitedly, with 
an almost wild laugh. “A touch of the knout, a few blows 
of the musket; that soon takes the spirit out of them.” 

The baronet joined in the laugh. 

“ Suppose the man escaped, and vowed vengeance against 
you,” said Lestrus, after a pause. 

Sir Ambrose moved a little uneasily in his seat. 

“Revenge, eh? Oh, the police would prevent that.” 

“They do escape sometimes,” said Lestrus, impressively. 
“ I knew such a one. He was so changed by his sufferings 
that no police could have identified him. ’ * 

“You don’t mean to say that he has got loose?” 

“It is possible. These so-called patriots are determined 
men, and — well, you should make some inquiries of the Rus- 
sian Government, for he might have escaped.” 

“My God! you don’t mean it! I must write to our 
ambassador,” said Sir Ambrose, paling. 

There was a short silence between the two. Lestrus appeared 
to be wrapped in thought. At length he said : 

“You remember his wife? A fair-haired, anxious-faced 
woman, deadly pale, with hazel eyes, who sat in front of the 
dock ? She screamed aloud when the magistrate gave his de- 
cision ; it was almost a death-sentence to send that man back 
to Russia. She” (and his voice trembled a little) “ died, I have 


THE GREAT DIVORCE, 


249 


heard, and their two young children went to some poorhouse, 
where typhoid took them. I wonder if it grieves you to know 
this?’^ 

He looked at Sir Ambrose curiously. 

The reply was characteristic of the man, whose voice was a 
little thick now. 

‘‘ Oh, to hell with the lot !’* 

‘‘Pray that Michael Magdalinski never has you at his 
mercy ! ^ * 

There was that in the voice of Lestrus Arriva which almost 
sobered the baronet. 

“You seem to know a great deal about this affair,** he said, 
suspiciously. 

“ I have travelled much, and met many strange characters — 
perhaps this man among them.** 

Anna coming to clear the table stopped this conversation. 
Lestrus left the spisesal, and again seated himself at the table 
in the salon, wrote a few lines, and enclosed them in an 
envelope. As Anna was passing into the kitchen, he stopped 
her. 

“ I shall probably be going out for a few hours,** he said. 
“ If I have not returned before Mrs. Hutchinson, give her 
this letter immediately she arrives here. But if I return first, 
let me have it back again. You will make no mistake?** 

Anna almost tossed her head. She never made mistakes. 

Lestrus next sought Sir Ambrose, and found him in the hall, 
turning over the leaves of the visitors* book. He looked up. 

“Why, Lady Froggart*s been herel** he exclaimed, “and 
that blackguard, Kingley !** 

“ Why blackguard ?** 

“Why blackguard? Why, he half killed me, and then 
bought my property at Revelsbury through a third party ! I*d 
sooner have seen the place at the bottom of the sea than in his 
hands. He*s already been upsetting everyone there with his 
radical ideas — he and that scamp Goodenough 1** and the 
baronet*s face flushed red with anger. 


250 


LADY VAL*S ELOPEMENT. 


Mr. Kingley told me you were not aware that he was the 
purchaser. ’ ’ 

Did he? Damn him ! I never heard of it until I got to 
Bergen the second time, and found a letter from my solicitors. 
I shall be glad to have a chance of telling him what I think 
of him.** 

‘^If Lady Val thought it possible you might come here, 
she may have given orders for a message to be sent after her.** 

‘‘What for?** 

“ To warn her of your arrival.** 

“But she must return here; the woman said there was no 
other road !** cried Sir Ambrose, aghast at the idea. 

“ No ; no road ; but I expect there are paths up the valleys. 
Lady Val might leave the steamer anywhere on the lakeside, 
and you would never find her if she took refuge in one of the 
farmhouses among the mountains.** 

“You think ** 

“ I think if you wish to make sure of meeting her, you 
should row up the lake, and stop the steamboat ; the captain 
will make no objection.** 

The suggestion that his wife might even now escape him 
appeared to madden Sir Ambrose, who gave vent to a volley 
of oaths levelled at Lady Val and Grace Cams. When his 
violence had somewhat abated, he asked the way to the lake, 
cursing the Norwegian language, because it was one he could 
not understand. 

“ I speak it and know the way. Shall I come with you?** 
said Lest ms. 

The offer was ungraciously accepted. 

“ I must first make some addition to my attire. Walk up 
the road ; I will soon overtake you. * * 

Ascending to his room, Lestrus took from his despatch-box 
a small blue glass bottle, and sprinkled a portion of its con- 
tents on a dark-coloured silk handkerchief. This latter he 
rapidly folded, pressed, and covered tightly with several 
folds of oiled silk. From the despatch-box he also drew a 


THE GREAT DIVORCE. 


7 251 

long leather sheath, from which a knife-handle projected, and 
placed it with the packet in the left-hand side pocket of his 
coat. 

Surely strange preparations these for a walk in Nor- 
way. 

Hastening downstairs, he called Anna, and from her ob- 
tained a ball of twine. The attire^* now being satisfactory, 
he left the hotel, and soon overtook Sir Ambrose. 

Though the sun was hidden by dark clouds, the heat was 
intense. The gloomy pall which had overhung Olden earlier 
in the day had now spread to the range of mountains on the 
opposite side of the bay. No breath of air was stirring in this 
deep valley. An extraordinary stillness prevailed, broken 
only by the river, the roar of which rose and fell strangely. 
Even the ponies no longer tinkled their melodious bells, the 
graceful little creatures lying panting on the mountain side. 
Now and again the noise of steel on stone was heard, as a 
scythe was sharpened by some thrifty farmer, anxious to scrape 
off a few more blades of grass from between the stones to in- 
crease his store in the hay-hut before summer ended. The 
air was full of small black flies, brought down from the skies, 
so the peasants said, by the oppressive atmosphere. 

The twain, opposite in all the characteristics of civilised 
human beings as north is to south, soon arrived at the road- 
ending, where two or three boatmen were lying listlessly on 
masses of rock by the roadside. 

We’ll have a crew of four,” said the baronet. 

Lestrus spoke to the men in Norwegian. 

‘‘We want a boat to go for a short row up the lake. We 
don’t want oarsmen.” 

“You will not go far? A storm is coming on,” said the 
principal boatman. 

“No, not far; just round the point. How soon will the 
steamer return ?’ ’ 

“In an hour, I think.” 

“ They won’t row us even for extra drikkepenge^^ said Les- 


252 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT. 


trus, turning to Sir Ambrose, and now speaking in English. 

They fear the storm.*' 

What can we do?** 

I’ll row you. I*m well accustomed to such work,** and 
Lestrus smiled grimly. 

Sir Ambrose seated himself in the sternsheets of a small 
boat. 

One would think you had a grudge against the lot,** said 
he, as Lestrus commenced to row slowly up the lake. 

‘‘You have given me to-day an opportunity I have long 
wished for.** 

“I don’t quite understand.” 

“It doesn’t matter. 1*11 explain some other time. Keep 
a look-out for the steam-boat. * * 

On they went past mountain and dale, past forest and tor- 
rent, past gaarde and saeter. Lestrus scanned the shores care- 
fully; so far no spot seemed sufficiently removed from the 
resorts of men for his purpose. At the end of about an hour 
they approached a portion of the lakeside where a furlong or 
more of the mountain on their right, from base to summit, 
was devoid of vegetation, bare as the sides of a volcano. On 
the slopes were scattered masses of rock varying in size from 
mere stones to huge blocks large almost as a gaarde hus or 
farm-house such as those they had been passing. Frowning 
above all, a mighty forehead to the mountain’s face, hung a 
ridge of ice, the fringe of the great glacier which was here 
exposed to view. The constant breakings away from this ice- 
field during the spring thaws, had wrought desolation in their 
wild career to the lakeside. 

“The darkness is increasing; I fear the storm is almost 
upon us. To be out on the water in this small boat is to risk 
our lives.” 

“Then we had better land,” said Sir Ambrose, sullenly. 
The effects of the champagne had passed off, leaving him dull 
and dispirited. 

“Among those rocks we shall certainly find some kind of 


THE GREAT DIVORCE, 


253 

shelter, and from the hillside be able to watch the steam-boat 
almost as soon as she leaves the quay,*^ said Lestrus. 

A few minutes later the boat's keel grated on the stony 
shore. 

The rower made fast the painter to a small piece of rock, 
and guided his companion up the bare slope to a spot some 
fifty feet above the water’s edge. 

We shall be protected under this projecting ledge,” said 
he, placing his left hand in a side pocket as if seeking some- 
thing. 

^‘Yes, and I’ll sit down,” said Sir Ambrose, who was 
blown. 

^‘See! The steam-boat is rounding the point,” cried 
Lestrus, suddenly. 

Where? Oh! ” 

As the baronet turned away to look up the lake, Lestrus 
sprung upon him from behind, threw him face downwards on 
the ground, and, before the astonished man could begin to 
struggle, had covered his head with the silk handkerchief. 
Then pressing heavily with one knee on his victim’s back, 
he seized his wrists and drew them behind him. 

Having recovered from his first surprise. Sir Ambrose, who 
was a powerful man, struggled violently to throw his enemy 
from his back. But Lestrus, his dark eyes flaming, his breath 
coming in short gasps, the veins standing out on his hands 
and flushed face, held on with the tenacity of vengeance long 
delayed. 

Soon the struggles ceased ; there were a few muffled cries, 
a few helpless motions of the head, now upwards, now from 
side to side. Lestrus felt the body grow limp beneath him. 
Still he kept his position. 

‘‘It will do now,” he said at length, and removed the 
handkerchief. 

Sir Ambrose was purple in the face, and breathing loudly 
and laboriously. Lestrus bound his arms behind him, with 
many turns of twine drawn off the ball which Anna had given 

22 


254 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT. 


him, and in similar fashion fastened his legs together both at 
the knees and ankles. He then placed him in a sitting posi- 
tion, with his back to a rock, and waited. 

Minutes passed, and the sleeper awoke not. The breathing 
became if anything more stertorous, and the face more in- 
flamed. 

Withdrawing the long, keen, shining knife from its sheath, 
Lestrus went down on his knees and opened a small vein in 
the baronet’s neck. The blood flowed drip by drip at first, 
then faster, and stained the tall white collar. The wretched 
man opened his eyes, gasped, closed them again, reopened 
them, looked helplessly round, and very slowly recovered 
consciousness. Lestrus bided his time. Sir Ambrose sat 
there helpless, his projecting eyes staring out stupidly from 
his purple, bloated face. 

Can you understand me yet?” 

The baronet looked at his interrogator hazily, then sud- 
denly, and without warning, began to scream loudly for help. 

Lestrus quickly gagged him with a pocket handkerchief, 
and addressed him sternly : 

Look at me ! I am Magdalinski !” 

Sir Ambrose’s eyes stared out wildly, fearfully. 

I headed an insurrection in Poland which failed. I fled 
to England, for I had heard it called the land of the free. 
You, by suppressing evidence, caused me to be delivered up 
to the Russians. Through you I lived in a hell upon earth 
for five years; through you my wife and children died in 
misery. Now I will have my revenge !” He placed his 
mouth close to the baronet’s ear and shouted, ‘‘ Revenge ! 
Do you hear? Revenge! Revenge! — I will not kill you,” 
he went on, that would be too merciful. I will treat you no 
worse than many a poor creature has been treated in your own 
country in the name of the law.” 

There was a quick motion of that cruel glistening knife, 
and Sir Ambrose’s ears fell bleeding on the ground. 

The victim swooned. Presently he reopened his eyes. 


THE GREAT DIVORCE, 


255 

Those eyeballs staring out with, oh ! such horror written in 
them. 

This is only a beginning. Do you hear ? Only a begin- 
ning cried Lestrus, excitedly. It is nothing to the knout, 
nothing to frost-bite, nothing to life in the mines, nothing to 
death by typhoid in the workhouse. See there, that — and 
that — your friends will know you now 

He had cut two shallow gashes, crossing one another, on 
each of the wretched man’s cheeks. 

The steamer bearing the picnic party was coming up the 
lake. A darkness, almost of night, had fallen. The elder 
women felt faint. All excepting Grace and Mr. John White 
were huddled together in the small cabin, speaking in whis- 
pers, as if dreading something, they knew not what. The 
mountains showed out dimly against the dark sky, but what 
little light there was seemed concentrated in the glacier fringe 
towering high above them. 

^‘The guide-books say avalanches are constantly falling 
down that slope,” said Grace. 

‘‘That must be earlier in the year,” answered the young 
man standing beside her. 

They were on the roof of the cabin, protected by a stout 
awning from the rain, a few large drops of which had begun 
to strike the black water. 

Suddenly the dark pall discharged a vivid flash of light 
which appeared to career from peak to peak and illumined the 
weird scene. Then followed instantly a terrific thunder-clash 
which made the frightened women in the cabin shriek and 
huddle together shudderingly. A most terrible storm had 
burst in all its fury. 

The peals of thunder echoing back and back again from 
mountain to mountain soon merged into one angry roar. 
There was a quick succession of appearances and disappear- 
ances of the landscape, at one moment all dazzling brilliance, 
the next darkness. Grace found herself holding her com- 


2s6 


LADY VArS ELOPEMENT, 


panion’s hand. She was trembling. Who would not be awe- 
stricken at such a scene ? 

‘‘I feel so infinitesimally small, so puny, amid these grand 
outbursts of nature ! ’ ’ she cried. 

‘‘What a poor fraction of nature’s work man is compared 
with these everlasting mountains and ice-fields !” answered her 
companion. “ Only one touch from those forks of lightning 
and our little existence would be ended.” 

“ The storm seems abating a little. There’s a rift in the 
clouds. See how the light falls on the glacier. Why!” and 
she clutched his arm with her disengaged hand, “ it’s moving ! 

- — Look! look!” 

Both held their breath. The whole face of the ice-field 
which overhung the mountain ridge was slipping downwards, 
slowly and in stately fashion at first, but with rapidly growing 
speed. Now fully launched, with a roar louder far than the 
thunder, it swept grandly down the steep sides of the moun- 
tain, carrying rocks, stones, all before it, and plunged into the 
lake amid a wild turmoil. A wave, like the bore of some great 
river, arose and travelled across the heaving water, almost bring- 
ing destruction on the frail launch and its passengers. 

Slowly nature became pacified. Little beams of sunlight 
pierced the thunder clouds. More distant and less frequent 
were the peals of thunder. The air grew fresh and sweet. A 
slight breeze from the west curled the silvering waters, and 
dispersing those gloomy vapours, disclosed the heavenly blue 
sky beyond. It seemed to the affrighted women as if day had 
just dawned after a night of terror. 


FLIGHT. 


257 


XXVI. 

FLIGHT. 

The impressions wrought by the great elemental battle on 
the minds of Mrs. Blisse and her friends were in a measure 
dispelled by Anna’s pleasant greeting, the cheerful open fire in 
the salon, on which the wood logs crackled merrily, and the 
bountiful meal set out in the spisesal. But the badinage of the 
Shaitans was wanting, and conversation flagged somewhat. A 
silver moon was sending soft radiance out from a cloudless 
sky over fjord and fjeld, and the air was still ; but it was 
difficult to altogether forget that Titanic ice-slip, illumined 
by vivid lightning flashes to the music of echo-multiplying 
thunders. 

The first course had been cleared ; but Lady Val’s seat re- 
mained vacant. 

What has become of Elsie ?” asked Bob. 

Oh, she will be sure to come down directly.” 

Another five minutes passed. Bob repeated his question, 
and for answer Grace went in search. She found her sister 
sitting on the edge of the bed, pale and trembling. The expla- 
nation lay in a letter she was clutching in her hand. 

“ Loen Hotel. 

" 3 P.M. 

Dear Madam, — Sir Ambrose Val arrived here this after- 
noon, but has left the hotel for some hours. He may not re- 
turn to-night. If you wish to avoid him, you will have an 
opportunity. 

‘‘ For grave reasons, which concern none but myself, I have 
decided to leave here. May I ask you to tell my dear friend, 
Gerald Kingley, to forgive me, and that I have taken the best 
course for him ? I earnestly hope he will never abandon his 
r 22* 


2^8 


LADY VADS ELOPEMENT. 


noble intention of devoting his great wealth to the relief of the 
oppressed. 

‘‘Accept, Madam, the respectful salutations of 

“Your devoted servant, 

“Lestrus Arriva.’^ 

There was a postscript of a few lines containing directions 
concerning the writer’s luggage. He desired Gerald to take 
it to England and leave it at the Caf6 Cosmos in London. 

The position was anxiously discussed by the two sisters. 
Grace’s practical manner of meeting difficulties had the effect 
of calming Lady Val, who, with nerves unstrung by her expe- 
riences on the lake, felt completely overwhelmed on learning 
the news of Sir Ambrose’s arrival. 

“Face him; let him do his worst,*’ was the advice Grace 
had first felt inclined to proffer, for at eleven the following 
morning they would all be leaving for Bergen. Her brother, 
Gerald, and Captain Haulyard, would surely see that Elsie 
suffered no insult. 

On further consideration, Grace saw that Sir Ambrose would 
not improbably travel in the same steamer down the Nord 
Fjord, and even have time before it started to make a terrible 
scene, creating a scandal which would be as unpleasant for 
Lady Val as it would be enjoyable to the Legges and Blisses. 
Moreover, what was the law in Norway as to runaway wives ? 
There was no time to make inquiries on the subject, and it 
might be that Sir Ambrose had the right to take forcible pos- 
session of the person of his lady. If in his usual condition of 
semi-intoxication, an outburst of fury was certain, and some 
act of violence might follow. Flight, they finally concluded, 
was without doubt the wisest course. 

Grace went to Anna, pillar of strength and resourcefulness, 
and stated plainly to her that the newly arrived Englishman 
being Lady Val’s enemy, their immediate departure from Loen 
had become desirable. 

Anna, with perceptions rendered keen by long residence in 


FLIGHT, 


259 


England, quickly grasped the situation. She would have a 
boat with three men ready in half an hour. Miss Carus could 
at once pack up her things, and arrange whither she and her 
friends would go. They could reach either Olden, Faleide, 
or Visnaes in a few hours; If the Englishman came later 
and wanted a boat — well, she would see that it took a long 
time to find boatmen. 

Grace returned to Lady Val, whom she found hurriedly 
casting clothes, hats, boots, and all and sundry female belong- 
ings, into one of those small cabin boxes such as are often 
used for travelling in Norway. 

Have you seen Bob?'' asked Lady Val. 

No j I quite forgot him. I fear he won't like leaving Pru- 
dence, ' ' replied Grace, placing her knee on the box. 

Poor boy ! But we can't go without him." 

‘‘Of course we can go without him. Why not? Oh, 
bother! This box-lid will never come to," said Grace, 
struggling with the fastening. “There's really no time to 
pack properly. We must leave most of our things behind, 
and get Anna to see to them. The boat would be ready for 
us in half an hour she said. I'll speak to Bob at once. He'd 
better come with us. You get dressed, dear, and just take a 
few things for a couple of nights," and the woman of action 
rushed off. 

Happening first of all upon Gerald, sitting disconsolate in 
the chilly verandah, she gave him the message from Lestrus ; 
she called Captain Haulyard out of the salon, and left Gerald 
to explain matters to him ; and she sent Bob and Ina up to 
Lady Val, first telling them that Sir Ambrose was expected 
every minute, and that flight had been decided on. Bob, 
Prue in mind, opened his mouth to protest ; but Grace took 
him authoritatively by the shoulders, turned his face to the 
staircase, and ordered him off. He obeyed her murmuring. 

A quarter of an hour later, Anna, laden with wraps, guided 
the Carus family and Ina down the servants' staircase, so 
avoiding the keen eyes of the ladies in the salon. The little 


26 o 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT. 


party stole out through the back door of the hotel down to 
the quay, where Gerald, Captain Haulyard, and his pretty, 
but for the nonce tearful, daughter, were waiting. Grace 
took Gerald aside. 

‘‘ I will let you know where we are as soon as I know 
myself. Will you stop here, and see what course Sir Am- 
brose intends to take? — Thanks very much. Now, would 
you mind settling our bill — there’s only a week owing, and 
there’s no time for us to do it? — Thanks, that’s very good of 
you. And would you mind — no, it doesn’t matter. Good- 
bye.” 

‘‘ But I’ll do it with pleasure.” 

He was talking to Grace, but his eyes were on Ina, who 
was already seated in the boat. 

Grace was stepping off the quay on to one of the seats. 
She turned back. 

‘‘ Oh, nothing very much ; only I should like you to make 
our excuses to Mr. White for running away so abruptly, and 
say we will write to him, but — yes — explain to him why we 
have to go. I should like him to know.” 

There may have been a blush upon her cheek, but the 
moon, which has no eye for colour, does not disclose secrets 
of that kind. When they were a mile away, Grace recollected 
with dismay that Mr. John White was leaving on the morrow 
for England, and had given her no address. 

And so they rowed out into the night, flying to a place, as 
yet undetermined, from the man who no longer existed. 
Little did that mutilated, crushed corse, with sightless eyes 
staring up through the green glacier water, care whither they 
went. The husband had chased a phantom lover, the wife 
now fled from the phantom husband. 

Anna invented a little story, ^^a lily-white whopper,” as 
little Winks would have called it, to answer the inquisitive 
inquiries of the Legges and the Blisses. Mrs. Hutchinson 


FLIGHT, 


261 


and her party had been telegraphed for by friends from Vis- 
naes, she said. Very likely they would all meet on the 
steamer to-morrow. 

But the morrow came, and there was no Mrs. Hutchinson 
and party on the good vessel Hornelen in which Mesdames and 
Mesdemoiselles Legge and Blisse, with Captain Haulyard and 
Prudence, Colonel Van Bombkin with his Greek god-like son, 
Ganymede, and Father Christmas, all took passage to Bergen. 

The Hornelen was steaming slowly down the Nord Fjord, 
and was about off Uitviken. Unlimited Loo had been search- 
ing the vessel from stem to stern. She had questioned stew- 
ardesses, interrogated stewards, visited the captain on the 
bridge, looked into the galley, and peeped and pried into 
every hole and corner. Finally, she came up to her mother, 
who was seated on a camp-stool, and holding up a parasol to 
keep off the smuts, and asked her with an almost tragic air : 

Where is the duke 

Neither he nor The Boy were on board ! In the fuss of 
leave-taking and looking after the luggage their absence had 
not been noticed. Mrs. Legge was sure they had been left 
behind accidentally, and implored the captain to put back. 
The captain declined politely but firmly, and the Legges, and 
later on, when they knew it, the Blisses, tore their hair meta- 
phorically. We may leave them thus futilely employed, and 
return to the hotel, where men from the lakeside had come 
with anxious inquiries concerning the two strangers who had 
hired a boat the previous afternoon. 

On receiving details of the Cams family’s flight from 
Gerald overnight, Mr. John White was much perturbed, and 
at once decided to prolong his stay at Loen for a day or two. 
He persuaded himself that he did so with the object of ren- 
dering Lady Val any assistance that lay in his power. That 
Grace had a share in his change of plans he studiously kept in 
the background. Some men have this marvellous and blessed 
power of self-deception. 


262 


LADY FADS ELOPEMENT, 


The continued absence of Sir Ambrose Val caused no little 
excitement in Loen. Gerald made known Lestrus Arriva’s 
intention of leaving the hotel, but the boat not having been 
brought back to its owner, it seemed probable that Sir Am- 
brose and his companion had met with some accident. The 
news spread to the village, and knots of quiet-looking men soon 
collected about the quay, and earnestly discussed the situation. 

Gerald, deeply distressed at the absence of his friend, took 
the lead in organising search parties. With Anna’s assistance 
he wrote a description of the missing men and their clothing. 
This was done into Norwegian, and a few copies were made 
for distribution among the villagers, one being nailed on to 
the wall of the hotel. He offered liberal payments to the 
searchers, adding in addition a reward of ;^too for some 
definite news of Lestrus and Sir Ambrose. 

Collecting a number of men, he marched them up to the 
lake, chartered the little steamer and all the available boats. 
Going on board the launch with Mr. John White and Dear- 
love, they took the boats in tow, dropping one here and 
another there, until each half mile of the lakeside had allotted 
to it a boat and five men with instructions, not merely to 
search the shores, but to work up the valleys and visit every 
farm-house within two miles. 

The little party on the steamer then inspected the scene of 
the avalanche. Under the shadow of the glacier there rose up 
out of the water an island of ice and frozen snow, some twenty 
feet in height and a hundred yards or longer in extent. All 
around it, drawn together by that strange affinity which float- 
ing things have for one another, were fragments of ice, splinters 
of the parent mass, which clattered and crackled noisily in the 
swell caused by the steamer. Among this debris the first 
discovery was made. 

Two pieces of wood were seen floating. With considerable 
difficulty the launch was worked through the ice, and the tiller 
of a boat and a piece of thin planking with jagged ends, 
coloured a dark brown, were picked up. 


FLIGHT, 


263 


For an hour or two they cruised hither and thither, search- 
ing the surface of the lake for further evidence of the disaster 
which they feared, but found nothing. In the afternoon they 
landed, and drove gloomily back to the hotel to see if any 
news of the missing men had come in. There was none, but 
Anna told Gerald he had been asked for repeatedly through 
the telephone by someone at Visnaes, who would not give his 
name. It might be Herre Arriva, she thought. 

Gerald hastened to the room below stairs where the instru- 
ment was kept — that same instrument at which Ina had so 
often stood blushing, anxiously endeavouring to understand 
the messages which her lover was sending her through Nor- 
wegian mouths, over Norwegian wires ; the instrument through 
which she had laughingly listened to that pathetic request for 
whisky from the Irish fisherman. 

He rang up Visnaes. The answering ring soon came back. 

Hello ! Are you there 

Yes ; who are you 

^^Kingley.’^ ^ 

‘‘ All right. It’s mt — Bob Carus. I’ve left them at Mindre 
Sund. What about Sir Ambrose ?’ ’ 

He’s not returned, and we’re searching for him. There 
may have been an accident. He was out on the lake with 
Arriva in that storm. How is Ina?” 

A bit dull, but none the worse for the journey. How did 
Miss Haulyard go off?” 

All right; but she did not look at all happy.” 

A sigh was distinctly heard through the telephone. Pres- 
ently Bob said : 

Oh ! I say, what are we to do if anything has happened 
to Sir Ambrose?” 

^‘1 don’t see that there’s anything to be done. You had 
better stay at Mindre Sund for the present, and I’ll come over 
to-morrow or the next day with what news there is.” 

Thanks. I say, that Irish fisherman is still here. It’s 
such a lark. I have been talking to him, and now he declares 


264 


LADY VADS ELOPEMENT, 


there’s nothing like the Gothenberg system. He said he’d 
leave if he couldn’t have whisky, so the landlord has to 
provide it, and daren’t charge it in the bill.” 

‘‘Oh, doesn’t he? I must go back to the lake now and 
continue the search. Good-bye. ’ ’ 

“ Good-bye.” 

The sun had set, and darkness closed in. As soon as the 
waning moon rose behind Shaala and illumined the mountain- 
surrounded lake from end to end, Gerald gave orders to the 
skipper of the launch to collect the boats of those who had 
been searching the more distant shores. No news of the miss- 
ing men was forthcoming. All told the same tale. While on 
the homeward voyage, the launch progressing slowly, owing to 
the string of heavily-laden boats in tow, Mr. John White 
uttered an exclamation. 

“ What was that ? Why ! Kingley ! Didn’t you see it ?” 

“ No, where?” 

“It passed close to us. Round and dark like a man’s 
head.” 

The steamer was stopped, but the thing had already been 
seen by the searchers, who had cast off a boat, and dropped a 
hundred yards or so astern. The men could be seen standing 
up in their little craft, peering round on all sides. Presently 
they sat down, rowed a short distance, stopped, turned the 
boat’s head in the direction of the steamer, and quickly came 
alongside. The thing was handed to Gerald, who slightly 
shuddered, as he noticed that a red handkerchief was thrown 
over it. The finder said a few words in Norwegian, which 
the captain o£ the launch translated into English. 

“ There’s a lemming inside ; don’t let it escape,” said he. 

Gerald lifted up the handkerchief gently. Beneath it was 
a cork-lined, helmet-shaped hat, and at the bottom of the hat, 
crouching and screaming with fright or anger, was a fawn and 
white lemming. This creature had probably attempted to 
swim the lake, as do thousands of its fellows during the migra- 


FLIGHT, 


265 


tions from the mountains in search of food. Finding itself 
exhausted, and being near the floating hat, it no doubt climbed 
into this novel craft to save itself from drowning. I saw the 
little creature only the other day at Revelsbury, for Gerald 
took it to England, and has almost succeeded in taming it. 

Mr. John White and Gerald looked at the helmet, and ex- 
changed glances. The name of a well-known Bond Street 
hatmaker was printed in gold on the lining. Anna had de- 
scribed Sir Ambrose as wearing some such head-covering, and 
as a matter of fact identified it as his when it was shown her. 

At the quay by the outfall of the lake they found those of 
the searchers who had not waited to be towed in by the 
steamer. Among them was a man, who stated unhesitatingly 
that the tiller which had been picked up among the ice was 
his, and that the piece of planking was also part of the ill-fated 
boat let to the missing men. 

One of the boatmen brought in a strange tale. In a farm- 
house they had happened upon a girl who, so her mother said, was 
ill through fright. She had come home the previous evening 
after the storm, pale and shaking, and declared that on her 
way down from a saeter^ while the thunder and lightning were 
at their worst, a man seven feet high, with flaming eyes, long 
black hair, and face white as death, had rushed wildly by her, 
hardly seeming to touch the ground. 

Little heed was given to the story. 


M 


23 


266 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT. 


XXVIL 

INA CATCHES A CHAR. 

I DECLARE I was never in such a dull hole in my life.^’ 
And a week ago you said it was the jolliest place in the 
world/* 

Thus spoke The Boy and Mr. John White respectively. 

‘‘ The truth being, I suppose,** said Gerald, continuing the 
conversation, ^‘that it isn’t the place but the people, unless 
one is an artist or poet, or other great lover of nature. * * 

‘‘I know some artists,** said The Boy, ‘‘and they* re the 
most jovial lot of chappies out. They paint nature, but it 
doesn’t exhilarate them. They have their fun in the even- 
ing.’* 

“Well, it’s something to have got rid of Mrs. Legge,** 
said Mr. John White. 

“And Mrs. Grundy,** added The Boy. 

They were reclining in various unconventional attitudes in 
the salon, after a long day spent fruitlessly searching about 
the lake for further evidence of the fatality which appeared to 
have taken place. The boat had evidently been smashed up 
by the falling ice, and there seemed no reason to doubt that 
its occupants were killed at the same time. Nothing more 
could be done, and Gerald had decided to go to Mindre Sund 
on the following day. 

“ I wonder if I could be of any assistance if I went,** said 
Mr. John White, thoughtfully, watching the white smoke curl 
up from his cigar. “ I hardly like to intrude on Lady Val at 
such a time as this.** 

“I am sure Miss Carus would be very glad to see you,** 
said Gerald, artlessly. 

Mr. John White’s face flushed a little, but he said nothing. 

“ I should think from what you tell us, Kingley, that it’s a 


IJVA CATCHES A CHAR, 


267 


jolly good thing for Lady Val the old rascal’s gone,” said 
The Boy. Just before we left town I heard he was to be 
struck off the Commission of the Peace for drunkenness and 
swearing while on the bench ; more than once, too. I sup- 
pose she’ll be cut up a bit; but she’s not likely to grieve over- 
much.” 

I think I’d better go alone,” said Gerald. I’ll mention 
your kind offer to Lady Val and Miss Cams, and will tele- 
phone to you from Visnaes. I can drive down there in three 
quarters of an hour from Mindre Sund.” 

‘^So long as there’s a chance of anything turning up, I 
think some of us ought to stop here, certainly,” said The 
Boy. But I suppose,” turning to Mr. John White, ‘‘ if you 
go, there is no reason why I should stop here?” 

As to this Gerald said nothing. He had rejoiced greatly at 
circumstances having separated Ina from this good-looking 
youth. 

Thus it fell out that on the morrow Gerald hied him to 
Mindre Sund and told his story to the anxious women. It 
was curious, but of the three Ina was the most affected by the 
news. 

Grace took a purely practical view of the situation. He — • 
the baronet — was a useless and, in fact, harmful being in the 
flesh ; he was better elsewhere. Lady Val left them for awhile, 
but soon returned, showing a pale face on which were signs 
of tears. The door of liberty had opened to her suddenly, 
but in such an awe-inspiring manner as made her soul quake. 

It was decided that they should stay four or five days longer 
at the little hotel on the Lake of Reflections. Indeed, there 
was no opportunity of leaving the Nord Fjord sooner, as the 
tourist steam- traffic had ended for the season. 

Gerald felt he could not do less than inform Lady Val of 
Mr. John White’s offer to come and see her. 

I have no desire either way,” she said, sadly. Perhaps 
it would be more cheerful for you all if he came.” 

‘‘Decidedly more cheerful,” added Grace. “Let him 


268 


LADY VAUS ELOPEMENT, 


come by all means. And there’s Mr. Dearlove,” she added; 
‘‘he must come, too. We can’t separate them.” 

“ Oh !” said Gerald, much displeased. 

So, some twenty-four hours later, Mr. John White and The 
Boy left Loen for Mindre Sund, Herre Markus shut up the 
greater part of his big wooden hotel, Anna retired to a little 
cottage at Olden to hibernate, and Gerald was made very 
jealous at the warm way in which Dearlove renewed his ac- 
quaintance with Ina. Indeed, not liong since The Boy, who 
at a late hour in the evening is wont to wax confidential over 
the last cigar, assured me that those few days at Mindre Sund 
were among the happiest of his life. 

Grace declared that she considered herself “on duty” so 
long as Mr. John White continued to wear his arm in a sling. 
To Gerald, Lady Val came for advice on the numberless little 
business matters which arose at the outset of her widowhood, 
and he appointed himself her man of affairs, sending and re- 
ceiving numberless telegrams. 

Ina and The Boy were thus left much to themselves, and 
when Gerald found himself able to desert the young and hand- 
some widow, and would have sought the society of his coy 
sweetheart, he was informed in American-English by that 
same piget who, it may be remembered, administered hot cof- 
fee to Mrs. Legge’s guests, that she “ guessed” the young lady 
was “with Mr. Dearlove in the boat,” or “up the road,” or 
“looking for ferns,” or “on the mountain.” 

If the exact truth must be told, Ina became in a manner 
fond of The Boy, a fact she unwisely admitted to him one 
sunny morning, as he was holding her hand and teaching her 
to cast a fly for the rosy-bellied char which could be seen 
swimming among the piles, beneath the rickety old bridge. 
She discreetly added “as a brother,” for an expression of 
joy and love flashed into the youth’s face which brought up 
the blushes to her delicate cheeks and sent her little heart 
beating. 

“I’m more than fond of you,” he said. 


/ATA CATCHES A CHAR. 


269 


‘‘ Oh, but you mustn't.*’ 

‘‘Why not?” 

‘‘You know why not.” 

“But he don't seem to care.” 

“ Please don’t talk about it. There ! That big fish took 
my fly right into his mouth. How did he let it go ?' ' 

“You didn’t strike.” 

And the conversation drifted into matters piscine. 

Walking up through the avenue of silver birches and rowans, 
carrying just one little char, the result of an hour’s endeavours, 
they saw the young widow and Gerald coming towards them, 
very close together, and smiling at each other as they talked. 

“ They both seem very happy,” said The Boy. 

Ina made no reply. Her heart sank at the sight. She had 
gradually and unwillingly become convinced that such a 
woman as Lady Val was a more fitting wife for the new squire 
of Revelsbury than herself. 

And when Gerald saw her, which was not, so absorbed were 
the couple, until they were almost face to face, his smiles fled, 
and she, stupid little goose, thought he was annoyed at meet- 
ing her, quite leaving out of consideration the effect on him 
of her proximity to The Boy. At lunch she perversely kept 
up an animated conversation with her fly-fishing instructor, 
and, Gerald looking blacker than ever, she asked to have 
further lessons in the art, which were duly given. 

Lady Val and Grace looked on wonderingly, but after a 
little private conversation decided to let matters drift. 

Gerald, however, objected to his love drifting in any craft, 
or on any voyage, he not being of the crew. The bump of 
resignation was by no means so pronounced on this young 
man's poll as on Ina’s. Ina should be his wife, or he would 
know the reason why. Bearing in mind those divine days 
passed at Revelsbury, when they were all in all to each other, 
he refused to believe that she loved The Boy. She was young, 
and might .be forgiven a passing fancy for a well-dressed and 
smart young gentleman ; but in the end her good sense would 

23* 


270 


LADY VAi:S ELOPEMENT, 


surely prevail, and she would turn to her old lover. The time 
to speak out had come, he thought. He would ask her to 
keep The Boy at a respectful distance in the future. 

The ‘^speaking out’* took place the following morning. 
Ina kept up her old Revelsbury habit of rising not long after 
the sun, and Gerald found her, an hour before breakfast, 
utilising the few words of Norwegian she had picked up in 
making friends with some flaxen-haired, blue- eyed children, 
who had brought butter down from a mountain farm. 

Ina’s heart gave a bound as she saw Gerald approaching. 
She became immensely interested in the children. 

‘‘ How you startled me !” she said, as he came up behind 
her. 

This was not strictly true. 

‘‘ Did I ? I’m very sorry.” 

Gerald felt this was a feeble remark. He had prepared 
a suitable sentence with which to commence the conversa- 
tion, but it vanished from his mind immediately she spoke, as 
such sentences usually do. 

There was an awkward silence. 

Will you walk to the bridge with me ?” he said. 

*^Lady Val will be down soon.” 

But breakfast is not for an hour. Please come.” 

Very well.” 

‘‘I — er — wanted to speak about our marriage,” said he, as 
they wandered down the road, under the birches and moun- 
tain ash trees, still dripping from their cloud-bath of the au- 
tumnal night. 

I thought you had forgotten all about that nonsense.” 

‘‘ Nonsense ?” 

Well, it seems so, doesn’t it ?” 

‘^But we are engaged,” said Gerald. 

Ina looked up perplexed. He was not engaged to her. 
Surely he could not be referring to Lady Val. 

‘‘You forget what we settled,” she said. 

“ Oh, that was nonsense if you like,” he answered, brusquely. 


INA CATCHES A CHAR, 


271 

Yes, I suppose it was,^^ said she, sadly. you would 

like to settle it all now ?’ ’ 

she thought, ‘^he hopes to free himself from that 
understanding of ours.’* 

Yes, now. You don’t mind ?” he said, eagerly. 

No ; but isn’t it very soon after Sir Ambrose’s death?” re- 
marked Ina, dubiously. 

Was it possible, she thought, that he could wish to get en- 
gaged to Lady Val at such a time, and while she — Ina — was 
in the hotel ? 

‘‘ I don’t see what that has to do with it,” said he. 

Lady Val might not like it.” 

‘‘ She has been kind to you, certainly ” he began. 

‘‘Oh, please don’t talk about her,” cried Ina. “You 
don’t know how you hurt me.” 

It was Gerald’s turn to look puzzled. 

“But I think our marriage ought to take place soon,” he 
said. 

“ So they have actually settled it,” she thought, and she 
saw the glassy lake and the cloud-crowned mountains dimly 
through the tears which were welling up in her sweet eyes. 

‘ ‘ I — hope — you’ 11 — be — ^very happy. ’ ’ Her emotion almost 
choked her. 

“I hope we shall — nay, I am sure we shall,” said Gerald, 
cheerily. “ But when ought it to be ?” 

“ Oh, don’t ask me. How can you ?” she cried. 

Gerald thought her delicacy in the matter needless. 

“ Well, never mind,” he said. “ That can he settled later. 
Perhaps as it is so soon after Sir Ambrose’s death, it wouldn’t 
be nice of us to say anything about it just at present. We’ll 
wait until we get to England. Why ! you are crying ! I’ll 
soon kiss the tears away.” 

A sudden impulse seized her. She flung her arms around 
his neck and kissed him lovingly on the lips. 

“Once and for ever!” she cried, and darted off to the 
hotel, tears streaming down her face. 


272 


LADY VALS ELOPEMENT. 


Gerald strode along after her, happy as a king. Tears of 
joy,” bethought. ‘‘I mustn’t say anything about The Boy 
now. ’ ’ 

Now, here was as pretty a misunderstanding as ever play- 
wright would wish for. A word might have cleared it up ; 
but that word remained unspoken. For the rest of the day 
Ina hid herself in her room under plea of a headache, which 
was in truth heartache. When Gerald next saw her, at break- 
fast, on the morning following their converse by the bridge, 
she affected gaiety, and to his amazement arranged a water 
expedition with The Boy to the outfall of the lake where char 
abounded. 

Gerald did not meet her again until evening, when there 
was no opportunity of speaking with her alone. She sought 
her room early. He scribbled a few lines on an old envelope, 
which he pushed under her door as he went up to bed. 

^‘Dear Ina, — Please meet me outside the hotel before 
breakfast to-morrow. — Yours, G.” 

While he was dressing the piget entered his room, and 
handed him this note : 

Dear Mr. Kingley, — I think it is better that I should 
not meet you this morning ; it could do no good. We have 
made a terrible mistake; but please don’t speak any more 
about it. It is so painful to talk about it, and I am sure you 
don’t want to give me more pain than you can help. You 
see, the decision I came to was right ; but I have been very 
miserable about it. I wish you every happiness, dear Gerald, 
and hope always to remain 

‘‘ Your affectionate friend, 

Christina Springbrook. ” 

^^So she’s jilted me for Dearlove,” groaned Gerald, ^^and 
calls that coming to a right decision. Oh, how false women 


lA^A CATCHES A CHAR, 


273 


He was so thrown off his balance that he straightway- 
dressed, rushed out of the hotel, and began to climb the 
mountain lying behind it. Up he went through the woods of 
birch, alder, rowan, and juniper ; higher, and the trees grew 
stunted, gnarled, and twisted ] higher yet, until he was above 
the forest belt, and in a region of heather and rock; still 
higher, vegetation ceasing, and all around a wilderness of 
bare rock, with snow lying white in the hollows. The moun- 
tain-top was hidden by soft, pearly mists ; beneath him the 
twin cloud-reflecting lakes, Mindre Sund dividing them, 
stretched out; from the smaller sheet of water the thin, white 
thread of river leading away down the broad valley to Visnaes 
and the fjord. 

Exhausted, he flung himself down on the bare rock, and 
rehearsed in his mind that courtship of his : The meetings 
outside the house in Mayfair, the blow he struck the now dead 
baronet in defence of his love, the flight to Aunt Tabby’s, 
the halcyon spring days at Revelsbury, How sweet life was 
until that cursed fortune came ! Surely Ina must have doubted 
herself rather than him when she put him off for a whole 
year. Yes, certainly it seemed like it. She had been so dif- 
ferent with him all the time he had been in Norway. Why, 
almost the minute he arrived he found Dearlove at her feet. 
Yet it was hard to doubt her. Well, the world lay before him, 
and there might be worse troubles in life than this — not many 
though, and none harder to bear. 

He came down from the mountain late in the evening. 
Ina was standing near the little quay, watching some peasants 
coming from the steamer. He went up to her. 

I shall go back as soon as possible by another route.” 

But Lady Val?” said she, with her violet eyes gazing at 
a fern which grew at her feet. 

She will have Mr. White to look after her.” 

I hope you won’t do that on my account. It will look so 
strange. ’ ’ 


274 


LADY VADS ELOPEMENT. 


You don’t wish me to?” 

No, no ; I shall be most sorry, and, of course. Lady Val 
would not like it.” 

‘‘Then I will not. — I had your letter,” he said, after an 
awkward pause. 

“Yes.” 

“ So it is all over?” 

“Yes; all over.” 

She seemed to echo his words, and walked slowly away, 
leaving him there looking wistfully after her. 


XXVIII. 

“l THOUGHT YOU MIGHT LIKE TO BE A DUCHESS.” 

On the voyage home that happened which everyone with 
any knowledge of poor human nature must have foreseen. A 
corkscrew motion might, indeed, have prevented it, but the oft 
unruly North Sea was still as any reed-fringed mere. 

In the afternoon of the second day, Grace Carus and Mr. 
John White, his arm still enslinged, were seated on camp- 
stools on the fore-deck, almost over the stem of the vessel. 
She was snuggled up in a thick, homespun golf-cape, the 
silk-lined hood of which was drawn over her trim sailor hat. 
The sea breeze had brought a high colour into her cheeks, 
and her eyes sparkled. He thought he had never seen her 
looking so charming. 

There were no passengers within hearing, for most of the 
tourists had returned a fortnight earlier, and Lady Val’s 
party had the vessel almost to themselves. The September 
sun was lighting up the calm water, and disclosing thousands 
of graceful medusae, aquatic parachutes, through which the ves- 
sel ploughed unconcernedly. No land was in sight. All around 
was the great still, mysterious ocean, closed in by banks of 
clouds, which mingled with the horizon. 


“ yocr MIGHT LIKE TO BE A DUCHESST 


275 


It came rather suddenly. 

‘‘Another twenty-four hours, and we shall be parted,” said 
he, gloomily. 

“As must the best of friends. But you have promised to 
come and see us sometimes.” 

“As often as you will let me.” 

“ I shall be in town a good deal, unless my editor sends me 
off.” 

“Oh, don’t go.” 

“ But I like it.” 

“ If you’d only give me the right to keep you at home — 
I ” 

“ The right?” 

“ I didn’t like to speak of it before, owing to Sir Ambrose’s 
death. You’ll forgive me, won’t you? I do so love you.” 

Grace took the announcement very quietly. Perhaps it was 
not altogether unexpected. 

“ I used not to believe in love ; but the ancients were right,” 
she said. 

“I don’t quite ” 

“I mean it’s a kind of disease that attacks most men and 
women, at least, once in their lives. I thought I had an anti- 
dote. It’s very strange.” 

“ Then you ” 

“Yes, I’ve taken it a little,” and she blushed. 

“ So you’ll be my wife,” said he, gladly. 

She did not reply. 

“ I may, at least, hope,” he added, his face falling a little. 

“ It’s a very mild attack,” she answered. 

“ It may get worse,” he urged, falling in with her humour. 

“ It must run its course, I suppose.” 

“ Marriage would cure it.” 

“Is not the remedy worse than the disease? Besides, a 
slight attack is rather pleasant,” and she smiled. 

“ No, of course ; marriage doesn’t cure it — at least, it 
ought not to.” 


276 LADY VALS ELOPEMENT. 

He became a little confused here. 

‘‘Isn’t it curious?” she went on, taking no notice. “I 
thought I was proof against all this sort of thing.” 

“ Is it a first attack?” he asked, perhaps a trifle anxiously, 

“ Oh, yes,” she replied, and her eyes met his frankly. 

He looked relieved. 

“It has been coming on a long time,” she added, almost 
in a whisper, and her eyes sought the deck. 

“You’ve made me awfully happy,” he said. “I was 
afraid I might be speaking too soon. May I tell your sister ?’ ’ 

“Tell her what?” 

“ That we are engaged.” 

“ But engagement assumes marriage, and,” — she hesitated 
— “ I say, we are very good friends as we are. Why not let 
well alone ? Marriage might spoil it. ’ ’ 

Mr. John White did not see it, and he said so. 

“After all,” she remarked, reflectively, her eyes now 
turned seawards, “ this love is only a prompting of Nature — 
her little method of inducing us to ‘ replenish the earth. ’ ’ ’ 

“We ought not to fight against the promptings of Nature,” 
he remarked, sententiously. 

“A dangerous proposition,” she said, with a slight smile. 
“ Where might it not lead?” 

“To our marriage, for example.” 

“ The path might fall short of that goal.” 

“ It seems to me you take (you must forgive me) a rather 
debased view of love. It’s something higher and purer, is 
more spiritual than what you describe.” 

“ Such love as would be satisfied by mere companionship, 
an intercourse of souls?” she suggested. 

“Ah, yes,” said he, enthusiastically. 

“ Such as we feel for one another now?” 

“Yes.” 

“ Then marriage would be fatal to it. We should lose the 
spiritual in the gross realities of life. This better love is 
surely something worth preserving. ’ ’ 


‘‘ YOU MIGHT LIKE TO BE A DUCHESST 


277 

Mr. John White was inclined to think that marriage would 
not interfere with it, and intimated as much. 

‘‘It is not good for man to live alone,” he concluded. 

“And therefore he frequents clubs,” said Grace, spiling. 

He urged her to give him a definite answer. 

“It’s a little difficult, John — I shall take the liberty of 
calling you John after what you have said — to look at any- 
thing from a commonsense point of view when one is suffering 
from this singular malady. The future seems so obscured by 
the present. But it is a fact, I think, that people fall in love 
who are thrown a good deal together. ’ ’ 

“ There is such a thing as love at first sight,” he reminded 
her. 

“Yes, without even speaking. In other words, there is a 
certain number of exceedingly impressionable people in the 
world. Are they not the exceptions which prove the rule ?’ ’ 

“ Perhaps so.” 

“As a general proposition, every one loves once?” 

“ Yes, that is so.” 

“So if you had never met me, you would probably have 
loved someone else ?’ ’ 

He denied that such a thing was probable, but reluctantly 
admitted the possibility. 

“And supposing the ‘someone else,’ equally nice-looking, 
and equally amiable and kind — you see I am assuming a good 
deal— had nursed you when you broke your arm, you might 
have loved her ?’ ’ 

Still more reluctantly he made a further admission of the 
possible. 

“It almost seems to follow,” said she, “that if you mar- 
ried me you might still meet that other person — we will 
assume her even more nice-looking and more amiable than I 
— and if by some accident you were a good deal in her society, 
you might ” 

“Never, never,” he cried, vehemently. “I would love 
you always.” 


24 


278 


LADY VADS ELOPEMENT. 


But you said marriage cures love. And if that other 

woman did come on the scene '' 

I wouldn’t look at her.” 

Oh, do let’s stop as we are. Don’t tempt me,” she cried, 
half yielding. ‘‘We might after all not be happy, and yet 
bound together for life. It would be so horrible.” 

He thought it a fitting time to bring up his reserve forces. 

“I ought to have told you long ago,” he confessed, “but 
— but — well, I want forgiveness in advance.” 

She blanched a little. 

“You are not. Oh, that’s absurd — yes, I forgive in ad- 
vance. I hope it’s nothing terrible.” 

“ Only I’m the Duke of Silchester,” he said, a little shame- 
facedly. 

“No! — Oh, dear! I’m so sorry for you!” cried Grace, 
with obvious sincerity, when she had quite grasped the position. 

• “ Sorry !” and he bridled a trifle. 

“It is such an odious thing to be a duke or a prince or any- 
thing of that kind. All the rest of the world must seem so 
false to you.” 

“ It’s not so very bad,” he mildly protested. “ I thought 
you might like to be a duchess. ’ ’ 

“That’s not a nice compliment, John; I won’t call you 
duke. Have I ever said anything to make you think I crave 
a title I have not earned, money I cannot spend, or a throng 
of flatterers?” She was really indignant. 

“ I don’t think so,” he said, simply, “ and that’s why I love 
you so much.” 

“ Why was this obstacle raised between us ?” she exclaimed, 
bitterly. 

“What obstacle?” he asked. 

“ Why, the — your — I mean your being a duke.” 

“Surely that’s no obstacle.” 

“ I should hate the position. We should both be miser- 
able.” 

He sought to reason with her, but she was firm. 


“ THE NICEST MAN I EVER MET IN MY LIFE!'* 279 

be your amanuensis, she said: ‘‘typewriter, secre- 
tary, housekeeper, anything you like, to be near you, but let 
me keep my liberty, John.” 

“John” explained to her that it was the duty of a man in 
his position to marry and raise up heirs to perpetuate his 
noble name. But this argument availed him nothing. 

“It is useless, it is painful, to discuss this subject any 
further,” she said, rising from her camp-stool. “Come into 
the music-room and I’ll sing to you. Sometimes I have a 
craving for music. It seems to smooth out the creases of 
life.” 

In the twilight she sang to him long, low, and sweetly. He 
sat dreamily listening to her quaint old ballads, and when she 
had done took her hand and tried to bring her back to the 
subject which was in his mind. The most he could extract 
was the promise that if she married, which would be never, 
she said, it should be no other man than he, and with this he 
had to be content. 


XXIX. 

“the nicest man I EVER MET IN MY LIFE.’' 

It is really a relief to us who have tender hearts, and feel so 
deeply for those poor lovers — not only the Duke of Silchester, 
but also Ina and Gerald — to turn to that comparatively prosaic 
but thoroughly happy young couple, Bob and Prue. Their 
relations, as Grace said one day, were of the you’re-a-jolly- 
girl - and-you’ re-a-nice-fellow-we’ re-sure-to-get-on-all-right-to- 
gether kind. They never had any misunderstandings, nor did 
they trouble themselves with abstract propositions concerning 
the various strata of love and society. 

There had been no definite engagement. Papa had not 
been consulted, no word had been said by Bob to Lady \^al. 
But without any of those bothers and formalities which attend 
less fortunate young people, everyone knew very well that 


28 o 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT. 


Bob would shortly voyage on business to South Africa, where 
his little investment had so increased in value as to yield him 
a modest competency, return in the spring, and marry Prue. 

However, for the first time in the history of this unusually 
smooth courtship, a little hitch occurred. Arriving in London, 
Bob hastened to Twickenham, where Captain Haulyard had a 
pretty river-side cottage not far from Pope^s villa. There our 
lover found to his dismay that Prue, who had left the Nord 
Fjord six or seven days before him, had not yet returned from 
Norway. 

But they’re all right, sir,” said the housekeeper, who had 
given him the news. Noticing the blank expression on his 
face, she added, Might you be Mr. Carus? Oh, then I was 
to show you Miss Prue’s letter if you called.” 

It was one written to the housekeeper, and contained a long 
account of an accident to the steamer in which the Loen 
party had sailed for Bergen. Not far from the mouth of the 
Nord Fjord, while threading a narrow channel between 
islands, the steering gear broke down, and the vessel ran hard 
and fast upon a rock. It happened to be high water, so there 
was no chance of floating her without assistance. 

The passengers left the steamer, and took refuge in a large 
farm-house, and Prue gave a humorous account of Mrs. Legge’s 
and Mrs. Grundy’s tribulations in the matter of food, bedding, 
and the unconventional customs of the natives. A fishing 
boat had gone to Bergen for assistance, and was bearing the 
' letter, but no steamer was expected down the coast for several 
days, and as it would pass at night, there was a possibility it 
might not stop for their signal. 

‘^By Jove!” thought Bob, ‘^it was our steamer and we 
never saw anything of them ! ’ ’ and he became as doleful as a 
lover under such tragic circumstances ought to be. 

But, true to the calm course which Fate had mapped out 
for this fortunate maiden and youth, the trouble was trifling, 
and of no duration to speak of. Four days later, Prue arrived 
home, blooming and jolly as ever, and full of her experience 


“ THE NICEST MAN I EVER MET IN MY LIFEI'^ 281 


of Norwegian farm-house life. Two tugs had come from 
Bergen, got the steamer off, towed her into Floro for repairs, 
and then taken on the passengers to the old Hanseatic town. 
Prue brought with her a cake of fladbrody apparently a disc of 
whity-brown paper, and hardly less tough, and the news that 
Milly had actually captured Father Christmas, who suddenly 
fell under the spell of her pink cheeks and China-blue eyes. 

‘‘I’m not sure though that he didn’t do it to annoy his 
hundreds of nephews and nieces,” said Prue. “He often 
told me how their very obvious attentions irritated him. ’ ’ 

“Yes, the old gentleman had a keen sense of humour,” 
said Grace. 

So, all anxiety concerning Prue being ended, Mr. Robert 
Carus went off gaily to Johannesburg to wind up his affairs 
there, and Lady Val took up her abode in a private hotel in 
Jermyn Street, to wind up her late husband’s affairs in Lon- 
don. The house in Mayfair was sold, the memories connected 
with it being far from pleasant. 

The winding-up business consisted principally of paying 
debts ; and to her dismay. Lady Val found herself at the end 
of it all with little more than a small house at Revelsbury, and 
a few hundreds a year, which by settlement were secured to 
her in the event of her outliving her husband. The whole of 
the money received by Sir Ambrose for the Revelsbury estate 
had already been devoted to meeting losses on Stock Ex- 
change gambling transactions. 

In these matters Lady Val received no little assistance from 
Sir Harald Goodenough, who, on one of his rare visits to Lon- 
don, was brought to her hotel by Gerald. Many months 
passed before everything could be settled, for there was some 
difficulty in adducing such evidence of the catastrophy on the 
Loen Vand as would satisfy the court that Sir Ambrose was 
dead. 

Wearying of the law’s delays. Lady Val went to live in her 
house at Revelsbury soon after Christmas, Gerald and the In- 
dependent Gentleman having furnished it for her and turned 

24 * 


282 


LADY VADS ELOPEMENT. 


it into a very charming little abode. Sir Harald, indeed, was 
quite enthusiastic on the subject of the new resident, for he 
discovered that the handsome young widow was likely to prove 
a warm aider and abetter in all his little schemes for the good 
of the villagers. 

One bill Lady Val paid with ill grace. It was headed, 
‘‘Dr. to Messrs. Holmes & Sherlock,^’ and contained a for- 
midable list of charges for cabs, telegrams, railway fares in 
England and on the Continent, and fees for watching, inquir- 
ing, hunting, peeping, and prying. 

Lady Val showed the bill to Grace. The two sisters were 
sitting in a pleasant morning-room, the French windows of 
which opened on to a close-cropped lawn adorned by yellow 
crocuses, already bursting into flower. These had been planted 
in wonderful diagrammatical lines by little Winks, who had 
been promoted to the hybrid position of groom-gardener. 
From the garden a meadow trended to the Thames which 
sparkled like liquid gold in the February sun. Beyond the 
river was an elm grove, where the throstles had already begun 
their spring song. In the back-ground rose the Chiltern 
Hills. 

“You should have disputed it,’* said Grace. “Besides, 
they never found you.” 

“ But the scandal of it.” 

“ For the sake of their own reputation they would not fight. 
Imagine the learned counsel getting up and reading the first 
item : ‘ Attending Messrs. Fox & Preyer to receive instruc- 
tions re Lady Val’s elopement.’ Then the judge would ask, 
‘ With whom did the lady elope ?’ And the court would be 
convulsed by the reply, ‘ With her brother, my lord, and the 
plaintiff could not find them.’ Why, my dear, they’d be 
laughed out of court.” 

“Who are Messrs. Fox & Preyer?” asked Ina. 

The girl often spent her days with Lady Val. She had 
grown somewhat paler and thinner than when we last saw her 
in Norway. Her trouble was bearing heavily upon her, but 


« THE NICEST MAN I EVER MET IN MY LIFE:'^ 283 

she took no one into her confidence. Her invariable answer 
when questioned by her father, Aunt Tabby, Grace, or Lady 
Val, all of whom were becoming deeply anxious about her, 
was that what had happened was for the best, and would they 
please not talk about it ? 

Lady Val informing her that Fox & Preyer were Sir Am- 
brose’s solicitors, she told them how that letter in which the 
bait of something to her advantage” was held out had come 
to Loen. Had Gerald, who knew the firm in connection 
with his purchase of the Revelsbury estate, not been delayed 
by weather in the Sogne Fjord, he would have arrived at Loen 
before the letter, and she would doubtless have asked his ad- 
vice. But having answered it before his arrival, she, as may 
be remembered, made a little secret of the matter, hoping to 
give her lover a pleasant surprise at some future time. 

never could understand why Sir Ambrose came to 
Loen,” said Lady Val. ‘‘ No doubt he had the letter sent to 
you to find out your address, thinking you were very likely 
with me. ’ ’ 

A pity you didn’t tell us about it, dear,” remarked Grace. 

The conversation was interrupted by the Independent Gen- 
tleman and his gentle, brown-eyed collie. Laddie, both of 
whom were always welcome at The Weirs. The dog walked 
gravely up to each of the three ladies, had his soft head 
stroked, and then having done all the canons of canine polite- 
ness required, lay down at his master’s feet. 

^^Such news !” cried Mr. Goodenough. 

‘^Good, I hope,” said Lady Val, smiling at his enthusiasm. 

The best. The Attorney-General says the trustees of the 
Tin Tabernacle have acted improperly, so he has threatened 
them with an action, and they are going to give up the build- 
ing to the Parish Council.” 

‘^That’s capital !” said Lady Val. 

Well, it really doesn’t matter much now, because King- 
ley’s building an institute and library worth three of it; he’s 
going to make his uncle librarian, and Aunt Tabby’s to be 


284 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT, 


made happy with a little cottage hospital of her own. But as 
to the tabernacle — when a Lenten concert is prohibited in a 
building unless one can guarantee that the souls of those who 
sing the sacred songs are saved, well, it’s time to make a mild 
protest.” 

I can’t believe it !” said Grace. 

‘‘Upon my honour it’s true. You’ve no conception what 
extraordinary ideas on religious matters still linger in these 
old villages. But I have more news. Mr. Lias is leaving ; a 
capital living has been offered him at Brighton.” 

“ Oh, I’m so glad,” said Lady Val. 

“Yes, he was rather out of touch with the people here; 
but a delightful man so long as he had his own way.” 

“ I meant I was glad he had a new living.” 

“Exactly; so am 1. I’m advertising for a new parson; 
and nothing will satisfy Kingley but that the candidates come 
and preach and give the people here a chance of interviewing 
them ; and then there is to be a vote taken. ’ ’ 

Lady Val looked serious. Grace laughed. 

“ What a shockingly radical idea !” she said. 

“Now I must get under way,” continued the Independent 
Gentleman. “I have to be at the Union at twelve. The 
master wants to prosecute two young men for insubordination, 
the only evidence of which, so far as I can see, is that they 
said the gruel was thin ; and there has been some knocking 
about of the poor girls — broken skin, blood blisters — oh ! a 
nice affair I can tell you. Well, good-bye. You won’t forget 
we are to inspect the new cottages together this afternoon. 
Lady Val. You’ll come too, Miss Carus, won’t you? It’s 
quite wonderful the difference between the people who can 
be turned out on a seven days’ notice and those in Kingley’ s 
F. T. cottages with their fine gardens.” 

“ F. T. ?” said Grace, puzzled. 

“ Fixity of Tenure. They stop in them as long as they pay 
rent, and can buy them by instalments if they please. We’d 
have them all over England if it was not for the absurd reluc- 


A LETTER FROM THE DEAD, 


285 


tance of people to sell land they say produces next to nothing. 
Come, Laddie. Good-bye, Ina, I hope you’ll get some of 
your roses back before I see you again.” 

^^What enthusiasm he has!” said Grace, standing at the 
window and watching the grey pony drawing him rapidly 
down the winding carriage- drive between the rhododendron 
bushes. 

Oh, there’s no one like him,” cried Ina. 

‘‘He’s the nicest man I ever met in my life,” said Lady 
Val. 

“H’m,” murmured Grace softly to herself, and regarded 
her sister curiously. 


XXX. 

A LETTER FROM THE DEAD. 

One night in April, Gerald gave a little dinner at his club, 
the object thereof being the re-union of two old friends. Cap- 
tain Haulyard and Sir Harald Goodenough. 

To the ordinary eligible candidate the portals of the Junior 
Coliseum are only opened after years of waiting ; but there is 
a small and very private side door, known as “Rule 15,” 
through which the creme de la creme of the earth, as for instance 
a millionaire sponsored by a duke, can pass in the course of a 
few weeks. 

Gerald and the Duke of Silchester had become great friends. 
Together they planned out a system of co-operative farming 
which was established with every prospect of success at Long- 
lands, the duke’s Devonshire estate. On the plea of making 
the system better known and benefiting agriculture, the Dow- 
ager Duchess was induced to give Grace Cams an invitation to 
spend a month with her. 

“ Of course,” said the model young nobleman to his mother, 
“ I might have got someone who knew more about agriculture ; 
but such a person might be too critical. What I want are my 


286 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT, 


own views — I know the system’s sound — made as public as 
possible ; and no one I am acquainted with could write on the 
subject so intelligently and clearly as Miss Cams.” 

This argument was, of course, unanswerable, and Grace 
having promised her suitor, who had not quite given up hope, 
to leave her cigarette-case in London, and say nothing which 
might shock the duchess, became a visitor at Longlands. 

Gerald had been introduced by his friend into the upper 
strata of society. He was spoken of as “ Mr. Kingley, the 
philanthropist,” and found himself one of the lions of the 
London season. His name, particularly if on a cheque, was 
eagerly sought after by the thousand and one persons who air 
their particular fads and crotchets at other people’s expense 
by means of societies, clubs, guilds, associations, and what 
not. The Loen-Legge incident was frequently repeated with 
variations, and on a magnificent scale, but he walked the 
mazes of the modern marriage mart unscathed, tasting the 
delights of dances, receptions, soirees, fdtes, and the like. 
But never caring much for these things, simply curious, and 
perhaps unavailingly seeking forgetfulness, he soon gave up 
the society of all but a few intimates, and devoted himself to 
hard work for the poor of London. 

The sight of the unfortunates sleeping out, exposed to all 
weathers, had often moved him to pity. For these he bought 
houses, and turned them into refuges. Men and women 
going there were cautiously questioned by his agents, dressed 
shabbily to gain the confidence of the wretched. Thus ascer- 
taining the history of many a deserving, but unfortunate, 
fellow-creature, he held out a helping hand, finding a situa- 
tion for one, emigrating another, placing a third in a conva- 
lescent home, and acting as a friend to all who seemed 
worthy. 

Taking up an idea of General Booth’s, he instituted poor 
men’s lawyers, sixpenny lawyers” they were called, because 
for that modest sum they gave advice, and if the client was 
deserving, took proceedings for him. The amount of injus- 


A LETTER FROM THE DEAD. 


287 


tice which was prevented, and justice done, by these means 
in only a few months was amazing. He also put the law in 
force against the owners of unhealthy dwellings, hot-beds of 
disease, and became a terror to those who adulterated the food 
of the poor. 

It does not come within the limits of this story to tell of all 
his good works. Many called him eccentric and quixotic, 
but there were few who did not admire him for his earnest- 
ness, and the thoroughness with which he carried out every- 
thing he undertook. 

Unhappily, in spite of his multifarious occupations, the 
wound his heart had suffered remained unhealed, and no 
amount of hard work sufficed to blot out Ina from his mem- 
ory. He could not bring himself to visit Revelsbury, but left 
the management of his estate there to the Independent Gen- 
tleman whom he instructed to materially improve the condi- 
tion of the labourers in every possible way without pauperising 
them, and to bring as much land as possible into high culti- 
vation by means of allotments near the new labourers’ cot- 
tages, small holdings for the tradesmen and mechanics, and 
by instructing the farmers in modern and scientific methods 
of agriculture. With this last object in view, he obtained the 
advice of the best experts. He encouraged his tenants to 
purchase their land, spreading the payments over long pe- 
riods, for he argued that the land was now called on to sup- 
port too many different classes, and that a man would get 
more out of it, and cultivate it better, to the greater benefit of 
the nation and himself, if it were his own than if it belonged 
to another to whom it would some day have to revert. 

Gerald did, while the rest of humanity theorised. 

‘‘I envy you your fortune for one thing only,” said the 
Independent Gentleman to him during the dinner at the Junior 
Coliseum. It makes you independent of Parliament. These 
ideas of yours are as old as the hills, and most of them are 
recognised to be sound. Both Carrington and Tollemache 
have carried out with great success very much what you are 


288 


LADY VADS ELOPEMENT, 


doing at Revelsbury ; yet whenever Parliament embodies any 
of these systems in an Act, there is sure to be a clause stuck in 
by some purblind jealous old woman, who cannot see the dan- 
ger and discontent to which it gives rise, nullifying the whole 
thing. Even the Parish Councils have no power to get allot- 
ments for the parishioners against the wish of the County 
Council, and a County Council, unless it^s a Welsh one, never 
does oppose the local landowner in a matter of that kind. 
Land’s a perfect fetish in this country. The whole system 
wants overhauling.” 

‘‘It isn’t a bad system when the landowners are liberal- 
minded, and have their share of common sense,” said the 
Duke of Silchester. “ On our estates we rarely have disputes 
with our tenants. The labourers have comfortable cottages, 
and our people never go into the workhouse, unless they turn 
out very badly.” 

“Autocratic rule is certainly the best,” said Captain Haul- 
yard, “ if your despot is amiable and benevolent. Who more 
despotic than our friend Kingley here, and yet what good 
work he’s doing?” 

The duke left them early in the evening, having promised 
to take the chair at a meeting called in the interests of the 
Armenians in Turkey, for Grace Carus was to give an account 
of her experiences in that unhappy land. Gerald went with 
him into the hall of the club, leaving the two old naval friends 
in the smoking-room. 

“I haven’t had a chance before of asking after your little 
girl, Goodenough,” said Captain Haulyard. 

“ Thanks, she’s bonny. She promises to grow up very like 
her unfortunate mother. She has her hair and beautiful pro- 
file, but I thank God a very different disposition, so far as I 
can judge at present.” 

“That woman had the face of an angel ” 

“And the heart of a devil. But she changed greatly before 
she died.” 


“ What ! is she dead?” 


A LETTER FROM THE DEAD. 


289 


Yes, two years ago. She sent me quite a pathetic letter 
asking my forgiveness. It was addressed to AVindsor, and was 
some time reaching me. She was in wretched lodgings in 
London, and I went to see her, but arrived too late.*^ 

Sir Harald spoke seriously, but without emotion. 

He seems to outlive his trouble,*' thought Haulyard. 

The return of Gerald put an end to their conversation. 

“The duke is a staunch supporter of Miss Carus. I 

shouldn’t be surprised if ” and Captain Haulyard gave a 

dry little laugh, and looked the unspoken words. 

“Poor Unlimited Loo,” said Gerald, thoughtfully. 

“Who?” asked Sir Harald. 

“She was ” commenced Gerald and Captain Haul- 

yard simultaneously. “You tell the story,” added Gerald, 
solus. 

“ — a young lady who appeared to be very fond of Silches- 
ter,” continued Captain Haulyard, “when he was living 
quietly at Loen as plain ^ Mr. John White.’ When she heard 
that a duke, travelling incognito, was expected at the hotel — 
you see he was there all the time — she must needs take into 
her head that our friend here was the nobleman in disguise, 
and quickly transferred her affections.” 

“What!” exclaimed Gerald, in amazement. “Why, you 
don’t mean ” 

“ Don’t you know? Prue told me about it the other day. 
She had it from Miss Carus, who had it from Miss Spring- 
brook.” 

“Well, I’m hanged!” cried Gerald, indignantly. 

“Yes, and she found out her mistake after all,” said Cap- 
tain Haulyard, with great gusto ; “ dropped Kingley, and tried 
to go back to the duke. But it was too late, for between our- 
selves I think Miss Carus had replaced her.” 

“But why was it all kept so secret?” asked Gerald, much 
perplexed. 

“That I don’t know any more than yourself. The whole 
thing’s a most extraordinary complication.” 

N / 25 


290 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT, 


And why Unlimited Loo?” queried Sir Harald. 

‘‘Christened Louisa, and practically unlimited as to height,” 
answered Captain Haulyard. “A fine dashing girl, who 
might have turned out well, I fancy ; but spoilt by an am- 
bitious, tuft-hunting mother.” 

“It^s a most singular thing, but I heard of her only this 
morning, in a letter from Lord Caterham,” said Gerald, look- 
ing a trifle gloomy as he mentioned his rival’s name. “ He’s 
with his regiment at Willowshute, and she and her mother 
were staying with friends in the town.” 

“ Caterham is a merry young fellow who travelled with Sil- 
chester,” explained Captain Haulyard. “We used to call 
him The Boy. But go on, Kingley. ’ ’ 

“ It seems that Miss Legge and another rather rapid young 
lady, without giving notice of their intention, invited them- 
selves to tea with the adjutant, a rich young bachelor. Both 
he and his servant were out, so they coolly walked up and 
took possession of his room — but I’ll read you Lord Cater- 
ham’ s own words. 

“ ‘First of all they thought they’d make tea, and hunted 
out the crockery, but couldn’t find the grocery, so gave that 
up. Then they heard someone coming upstairs, and whether 
they got frightened or thought to give Buckstone (that’s our 
adjutant) a surprise, I don’t know, but they both hid them- 
selves — Loo under the table, the other girl behind the cur- 
tains. 

“‘It wasn’t Buckstone, but his servant, Willis. That 
lively damsel. Loo, not seeing the difference, pulled his leg, 
or did something of the kind. Of course he unearthed them, 
and wanted to know what they were doing. They were in a 
deuce of a fluster when they saw who it was, and said they 
had come to tea. He said he didn’t believe it, as his master 
hadn’t told him anything about it. The end of it was he 
came to the conclusion they were no better than they should 
be, kissed ’em both, and turned ’em out of the room. We 
all nearly had a fit when Buckstone told the tale at mess. 


A LETTER FROM THE DEAD, 


291 


He’s too good a chap to mention their names, but Willis let 
it all out, and Unlimited Loo and her mother have fled.’ ” 

“I don’t like to be severe on the weaker sex,” said the 
Independent Gentleman, ‘‘but one can’t help feeling some 
satisfaction when a girl of that stamp gets her deserts. By 
the way, Kingley, I should very much like a long talk with 
you to-night on business matters.” 

“ And I promised Prudence to be back before eleven, so 
I’ll make all sail for home,” said Captain Haulyard. “ Don’t 
come down, Kingley, I know the way out. Good-night. 
Good-night, Goodenough — remember you lunch with us to- 
morrow — two o’clock sharp.” 

“I have deciphered that letter,” said the Independent 
Gentleman when his friend had gone. “It’s a very serious 
affair. Could we go to your chambers ? I hardly like to talk 
about it here.” 

Gerald, of course, had no objection. His rooms were in 
the Albany, and thither they went. 

As they strolled along St. James’ Street he thought of the 
foggy night, little more than twelve months agone, when a 
humble young bookseller’s assistant wandered down that same 
street hardly feeling the ground as he went, heeding neither 
cold, nor wet, nor hunger, but filled with an all-engrossing 
love, and supremely happy. 

“ How is Ina?” he asked. 

“ She seems anything but well or cheerful, I am sorry to 
say.” 

“ Has Lord Caterham been at Revelsbury ?” 

“ Not so far as I know,” said Sir Harald Goodenough, and 
wondered at the question ; while Gerald thought — 

“So he’s tiring of her, and she’s worrying about it; poor 
girl !” 

It was but a step to the Albany, where an elderly, gray- 
haired housekeeper presided over Gerald’s little kitchen, and 
attended to his modest wants : An ancient dame, given to 
black silk dresses of an evening, wearing for adornments a 


292 


LADY VALS ELOPEMENT, 


black lace cap, and a thin gold chain round her neck, leading 
to a watch-pocket at her waist. Recognising her master’s 
guest, and without waiting for orders, she placed spirit de- 
canters and cigars on a small ebony table, then silently with- 
drew. 

The previous tenant of the chambers had decorated them 
in Moorish style. The window-recesses, fireplace, and door- 
ways, were framed with elaborate pierced woodwork. Each 
angle of the room was made into a pretty alcove, containing 
lounges, and lit by a lantern of quaint design, Anglicised by 
the addition of incandescent lamp. Gerald and his friend 
seated themselves in one of those cosy corners. 

Now to business,” said the Independent Gentleman, help- 
ing himself to a stiff glass of grog. 

Business ? Ah, yes — the letter,” said Gerald, whose mind 
had been full of other things. 

^^No wonder you couldn’t understand it, even with the 
cipher, for it worked out into Italian. They could have read 
it at the Cafe Cosmos, I expect.” 

‘‘But the cafe’s closed, and the people disappeared.” 

“ Yes, I know. I mean if they had been there. I had a 
good deal of trouble with it — my Italian’s got somewhat 
rusty; but with the aid of a dictionary ” 

“What is there serious in it? You said ‘serious,’ I 
think?” 

“Yes; and with good reason. Why, the man was an 
anarchist!” exclaimed the Independent Gentleman, drawing 
the letter from his pocket, and laying it on the little ebony 
table. 

Gerald started. 

“Good heavens!” he said. “I knew he had strange 
views ; but an anarchist ! ’ ’ 

“And what’s more, it’s evident that his object was to make 
you one. Listen to this — where is it? — Ah, here it is: ‘/ 
have failed^ and see no prospect of success. He will never join 
us. His will is too strongs and he is intent on relieving misery 


A LETTER FROM THE DEAD. 


293 

rather than removing the cause oj it; neither he nor his fortune 
is for us' You see, they wanted your money. 

‘‘This accounts for much I could not understand,’* said 
Gerald, thoughtfully. 

“ One of the most remarkable facts about this matter is that 
you seem to have almost converted the man to slightly saner 
views. There’s a passage somewhere — let me see — yes, it be- 
gins here : ‘/ am still one of you. I go now to Russia, where 
you will hear of me ; but I go there with a mind unsettled. ’ 
(“ Disordered would be more correct,” interjected the reader.) 
‘ Where all govern, as in England and France and free SwiF 
zerland, is not govern77ient some good ? May not worse follow 
if we destroy what is absolute liberty compared with the tyranny 
in other countries ? If the people place the power in the ha7tds 
of those who oppress them, why should we risk our lives to de- 
stroy such people-elected oppressors? No, let us anarchists 
fight in other countries, where terror alone will force the tyrants 
to yield to the wishes of the people. There is much misery in 
England, and the young 7nan' (“He describes you like that 
all through the letter,”) ‘ who has a heart of gold, will devote 
his wealth to the poor. We have no right to prevent hhn, or to 
take it for carrying on war in other countries. I feel I was 
wrong,' — and there is a lot more in the same strain, which you 
can read at your leisure. Now, what’s to be done ?” 

“ Give information to the police.” 

“That there are anarchists in London? They know it 
already. But what about the box and things? Was there 
nothing from which you could find out where his friends live ?” 

“ Only this letter; it’s neither finished nor addressed.” 

“ Um — I don’t see that there’s anything to be done. The 
man’s probably dead. Yes, do nothing. Lock up his box, 
and forget the whole matter. By Gad ! you had a narrow 
escape. ’ ’ 

“ Hardly that. I was never in danger of joining them. 
My remedies for oppression are school boards, ballot-boxes, 
newspapers, and time.” 


25- 


294 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT, 


A very good prescription ; a sixth part immediately after 
breakfast, and will look in and see how you are getting on this 
day ten years, eh ?’ ^ 

And I think I should add paid members of Parliament; 
only comparatively wealthy persons can enter the House now, 
and so the men who produce the wealth of the country are 
more or less unrepresented, and in all legislation the moneyed 
class are favoured.’^ 

‘‘I don’t like the idea,” said the Independent Gentleman. 

Salaried M. P. ’s might mean professional politicians. Work- 
ing-men can get pledges of good legislation before they give 
their votes to a candidate.” 

But the pledges are almost invariably broken, except by 
the very young men, who have little power in the House. 
That’s why we have a change of Government every five years.” 

‘‘ Them chaps h’ ain’t done what they promised, so we’ll try 
the others, eh?” said Sir Harald Goodenough, laughing. 

‘‘If there were annual parliaments both sides would get 
found out, and it would be a case of trying, not the other 
party, but new men — honest ones, and not mere place-seeking 
humbugs. ’ ’ 

“ It’s a big subject, and the hour is late, my young friend, 
so will you forgive me if I say good-night?” said the Inde- 
pendent Gentleman, getting up from his Moorish couch. 

“ But you haven’t told me about the new rector.” 

“ No more I have. He’s a great success,” and the speaker 
sat down again. “There were forty-nine applicants; thirty- 
two withdrew when they heard how the appointment was to 
be made ; one or two said it was a degrading thing to submit 
themselves to an election, and they would not undergo it. 
But most of them, I fancy, saw they had no chance of success. 
Of the seventeen remaining I struck out nine as being either 
too old, or too young, or too delicate in health. That left 
eight. Each man was to have a Sunday to himself, hold three 
services in the manner he liked best, meet the parishioners 
the following day, address them, and answer questions. 


A LETTER FROM THE DEAD. 


295 


By Jove ! we had a liberal education in Church of Eng- 
land ritual. The first man who came down was the lowest of 
the low — struck out half the music, read the psalms, preached 
in black for three-quarters of an hour, and consigned us all to 
perdition.’* 

How did they like him?” 

Not at all ; but the following Sunday we had the highest 
of the high, a tall, ascetic-looking man with a tonsure, and 
dressed as much as possible like a Roman Catholic priest. He 
brought down a couple of solo singers, two men with violins, 
another with a ’cello, and a whole lot of accessories ; they 
nearly filled Corneby’s wagon, which was used to bring them 
from the station — banners, vestments, censers, and I don’t 
know what. We had such a service ! Flowers, music on and 
off all through, two processions, a crucifix leading, and in- 
cense. The morning service was poorly attended, but the 
news spread, and at night fifty people couldn’t find seats. 
The leading actor said to me complacently afterwards that an 
earnest service was the only way to fill the church. I didn’t 
tell him that Corneby, the churchwarden, had spoken of it as 
a kind of combined free concert and raree show.” 

‘‘He didn’t get elected, I hope?” said Gerald. 

“ No, not one vote. I asked our oldest inhabitant, Frank- 
lin — you know him ; we went into his cottage together — how 
he liked it, and after hesitating a little, he said he was sure he 
and the others were very much obliged to the gentleman for 
the nice entertainment he had given them without paying 
anything, but he must say — and he hoped there was no offence 
— that he didn’t think as how a thing of that kind ought to be 
done in church.” 

“It seems to me rather like Salvation Army methods?” 
said Gerald. 

“Well, perhaps it is, but on an expensive scale, and some- 
what refined.” 

“And who did you elect, after all?” 

“ The end of it was that a man about forty, with a most 


296 


LADY VArS ELOPEMENT. 


amiable and charming wife, carried everything before him. 
He’s a magnificent preacher, doesn’t lack sound common sense, 
insists on a reverent and decent service, smacking neither of 
Rome, the theatre, nor the concert- room, and is as good to 
those who go to chapel as to church.” 

‘‘ How many votes did he get?” 

Every one; and I must say I am becoming converted to 
your ideas, though I didn’t like them at first. The people 
respect the man they’ve chosen, and his influence is great 
with them. Besides, looking at it from another point of 
view, you give the man who has no influential friends a 
chance of success in his profession. But again good-night. 
Here’s Arriva’s letter; there’s a lot in it which will interest 
you, I expect. I go back to Revelsbury to-morrow afternoon. 
Any message to — er — Ina?” 

wonder whether he or she’s to blame,” thought the In- 
dependent Gentleman, as he put the question. 

No ; only give her my affectionate — my very affectionate 
regards, and say I am sorry to hear she isn’t well, — Oh, and 
please give my kind remembrances to Lady Val, and thank 
her for me for taking so much interest in my new cottages.” 

When on the morrow the Independent Gentleman strolled 
up to The Weirs he unfortunately (for it caused Ina some 
suffering) happened to be in slightly jocular mood, and must 
needs pretend to mix up his directions. 

‘‘Mr. Kingley sent his very affectionate regards, and also 
kind remembrances, and I quite forget how to apportion 
them; so whichever of you two ladies thinks she ought to 
have the slightly warmer message, can appropriate it.” 

And of course Ina thought it was meant for Lady Val. 


MA V MEETINGS. 


297 


XXXI. 

MAY MEETINGS. 

A BRILLIANT May-day sun streaming through long, barred 
windows and an open door into a square, low, white-washed, 
stone-floored room, devoid of furniture save a few old benches 
and greasy wooden tables with tressle legs. The door opens 
into a yard whence comes the sharp clack clack of long-han- 
dled hammers plied by two white-faced, hungry-looking 
young men in grey fustian, who are breaking stones. 

About the room, some seated on benches, others leaning 
against the wall, are a score of old withered men, all clad in 
the stony fustian to which the poor, worn, old faces approxi- 
mate in colour. These are mainly farm hands whose honest 
life’s work is over. This is their reward — whitewash, stony 
fustian, confinement, prison discipline, inferior prison diet. 

They are a little less dejected than usual, some of them, for 
here on a bench is the Independent Gentlemen considering 
the potentialities of the workhouse fiddle. 

‘‘A poor thing, but mine own,” one of the veterans has 
said in effect. 

Only a cigar-box cut down and shaped a little, covered in 
and varnished, and a few odd bits of wood added. And yet 
a fiddle, with goodly neck, five strings, a bone bridge, and 
five bone keys, two evidently originating in tooth-brush han- 
dles. And here is a wonderful bow with hair from the work- 
house horse’s tail. 

Never had a tune played on it, sir ; not once since it was 
finished, two years come June.” 

The Independent Gentleman turns it over and over. 

‘‘Remarkable,” he says. “I wonder if it would stand 
tuning?” 

Turn, turn, turn — higher and higher. 

“I’m afraid these old strings will break.” 

Turn, turn, turn — screech. 


298 


ZADV VAVS ELOPEMENT. 


I wish we had some resin. Humph — how they run down ! 
Yes, I’ll see if I can scrape a tune out of it.” 

He plays a few bars of Home, Sweet Home,” a simple air, 
easily manageable on one string. Wonderful sounds are 
evolved from the metamorphosed cigar-box. Not loud, nor 
penetrating, but low, free from harshness, indeed almost sweet, 
and lovely music to the poor old listeners. 

Suddenly he stops playing. 

Heavens ! not that here,” he exclaims half to himself. 

^‘Yes, mister, play it. It’s ‘Sweet ’ome,’ mates,” says an 
old bent man who, supporting himself by two sticks, has been 
standing watching the player. 

Suddenly a bone key twists round violently, and the string 
is loose. 

The Independent Gentleman patiently retunes this fiddle of 
poverty. 

“ Now, what shall I play?” he asks. 

The most ancient-looking, shrivelled, and bent old man 
there feebly asks for “The Girl I left behind me.” The 
Independent Gentleman essays the lively air, no easy task 
on this primitive instrument. The dotard rattles his heavy 
workhouse boots ^ on the stone floor in a feeble effort to mark 
the quick-step time. 

J'm lonesome since 1 crossed the hills ^ 

And o'er the moorland sedgy ^ 

Such heaviness my bosom fills^ 

Since parting with my Betsy, 

What is passing in that nearly worn-out old brain ? Maybe 
some dim recollections are revived of those gay militia boys 
marching gaily, cap on ear, eyes right and left seeking rosy 
cheeks, band playing, flags flying, down to the quay. Ho ! 
for the battle-fields of the Crimea — 

But now Tm bound for Brighton camp^ 

Kind Heaven, then, pray guide me^ 

And send me home, safe back again^ 

To the girl 1 left behind me. 


MA Y MEETINGS, 


299 


Speechifying? Ah ! fine words — England’s brave defenders 
— heroes. How grand the colonel looks in his red uniform 1 
How bright the pretty ladies 1 But none brighter than my lass 
Susan — see, there — on the other side of the enclosure, the o;ie 
with pink roses in her bonnet, and waving her hand — ^ 

I seek for one as fair and gay^ 

But find none to remind me 
How blest the hours pass'd away 
With the girl I left behind me. 

How the crowd cheers, and the guns salute the Royal 
Prince ! A long voyage, and a cold, terrible winter in the 
trenches — God help us. But we were heroes, the colonel said 
so. And now — 

Inmate ! pauper ! 

Whene'er my steps return that way, 

Still fa;ithf ul shall she find me. 

And never more again III stray 
From the girl I ve left behind me. 

The tune ends, the old man’s head falls on his breast. 

‘‘Can you play the ‘Mistletoe Bough’?” croaks out a 
wheezy, asthmatic man, sitting near the door, who by some 
magic has maintained a condition of corpulence which almost 
rivals that of the master, and is positively indecent in an in- 
mate. Against his leg the workhouse cat, black with rusty 
patches, greyed as to her coat from the dust of the stone-yard, 
is rubbing her head and purring. 

“ How does it go? Whistle it.” 

“ Lor’ love you, sir, I can’t. I’ve got narry a tooth.” 

“Well, hum it; sing it.” 

“Bill will.” 

Bill, a careworn youth of seventy-seven, essays the task, 
and the ghost of a once tolerable tenor pervades the white- 
washed room. 

The Independent Gentleman picks up the forgotten air. 
Bill sings on — 


300 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT. 


“ The Baron’s retainers were blithe and gay, 

Keeping their Christmas holiday.” 

There is a shadow falling over the stone floor from the door- 
way, but they heed it not. The Independent Gentleman’s 
whole attention is given to the difficult finger-board ; the in- 
strument is not easy to manage. Bill has his eyes closed as 
he lifts up his head and trills out the old melody. The old 
men are watching singer and accompanist. 

Smiling down on them is a beautiful lady, laden with flowers. 
Surely the May-day goddess this ! A vision, almost, with her 
light spring dress, and the sun shining through her hair. She 
says nothing ; the scene takes her fancy — this earnest, hand- 
some man playing to the poor decaying waifs of fortune. 

“ Oh ! the mistletoe bough, 

Oh, the mis-tle-toe-bough,” 

There says the Independent Gentleman, laying down 

his bow. “ Why ! who ” 

have brought some spring flowers for my old friends,’* 
says the vision. ‘‘They don’t get much chance of seeing 
them out in the woods. But do go on playing.” 

“The concert is over, and the house has not fallen. We 
shall be told we are pauperising the people by making the 
place too pleasant.” 

“ I am afraid I’ve brought in some tobacco; is it very 
wicked?” continues the vision. “It’s all done up in little 
packets. How many do we want ?’ ’ 

“About twenty, I think.” 

“There will be just enough, then. Shall you be leaving 
soon ?’ ’ 

“Almost at once. Can I do anything for you?” 

“You wouldn’t mind driving me home, would you? The 
spring of my cart is broken.” 

“Blessings on that spring !” thinks the Independent Gen- 
tleman. 

They walk up through the old town to the Castle Inn, 


MA Y MEETINGS. 


301 

where in a roomy, well-strawed loose-box are the grey pony 
and Laddie. 

Harry Trotover, who had been talking over the '^brutali- 
ties’ ’ of the guardians (he is a plain-spoken young man) with 
the osier, is called, and receives orders to see the, coach- 
builder and walk Lady Val’s cob home. And presently. 
Laddie yelping joyously in front. Lady Val and Sir Harald 
Goodenough drive out of the ancient gallery-surrounded 
inn yard, rattle across the cobbles of the market-place, trot 
briskly over the old stone bridge of many arches, and are 
fairly on their way to Revelsbury. 

That May-day meeting was fraught with notable conse- 
quences to several of the actors in our little drama. 

For the first time since her husband’s death. Lady Val had 
forsaken her garb of mourning, and being no longer reminded 
by sombre garments of the terrible tragedy by which Sir Am- 
brose secured oblivion, and she her liberty, seemed brighter 
and more like the Elsie of the days before the Great Sacrifice. 

Grace had objected to make any change in her attire in 
consequence of her brother-in-law’s exit from this stage of 
ours. 

" I had neither regard nor respect for him,” she said. " I 
cannot say that I regret his death ; and to wear black would 
be the rankest hypocrisy. Still, dear, if you wish it, I’ll do it.” 

Lady Val did not press her, so the New Woman of the 
family dressed as usual, and the Dowager-Duchess of Silches- 
ter was not a little scandalised thereat. 

It was of Grace that the Independent Gentleman and his 
fair companion chatted, as the grey pony drew them along the 
Revelsbury road through a young beech plantation. Delicate 
branches, clad with newly-born leaves of the sweetest, tender- 
est green known to nature, met overhead, and were here and 
there pierced with glints of sunlight, which lit up the silvery- 
grey trunks of the trees. A gorgeous cock pheasant strutted 
through the underwood, seeking for last year’s beech-mast ; 

26 


302 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT. 


a squirrel, similarly engaged, taking fright at the approach of 
the travellers, nimbly ascended a tree, and made astonishing 
leaps from branch to branch. Now and again rabbits crossed 
the path. Laddie showing the whites of his eyes, but knowing 
better. Two blackbirds warbled one against the other, rivals 
for the love of that hen perched thoughtfully in yonder 
blackthorn. 

In the cart there was no such rivalry. 

have some very pleasing news from Grace,’’ said Lady 

Val. 

Is, her novel accepted ?” 

‘‘ No, not that. Guess again.” 

I should perhaps have stated that Grace had been at work 
on a piece of fiction during the winter months, but for a young 
lady to write a novel is now such an every-day affair that I 
quite overlooked the trivial incident in the relation of more 
important events. 

The Independent Gentleman could not guess the ‘‘pleasing 
news,” so Lady Val, having found her pocket (why will dress- 
makers — but the subject is too long for consideration in chapter 
the last), produced the letter. 

“I will read it to you,” she said. “It’s written from 
Longlands.” 

They were still in the wood, and had come to a slight in- 
cline. The Independent Gentleman reduced the pace of the 
grey pony to a walk. 

“ ‘ My dearest sister,’ ” read Lady Val, “ ‘the worst has 
happened. Eros has conquered. He has been too strong 
for me, and I do feel ashamed of myself. John proposed to 


“ Who is John ?” asked Sir Harald. 

“The Duke of Silchester, of course — Mr. John White,” 
said Lady Val, laughing. 

“ ‘ John proposed to me on the steamer ; but I refused him. 
Not that I had no love for him then, but I thought that surely 
a few women were born into the world with some other mis- 


MA Y MEETINGS. 


303 


sion than that of continuing the species — I thought I might be 
one of these few. Even now, dearly as I love John, I would 
not have sacrificed my freedom had he not satisfied me that 
our aims are the same, and that together we can work as one. 
When we were crossing the North Sea, he declared his posi- 
tion, and the idea of taking upon myself all the duties and re- 
sponsibilities of a duchess was perfectly horrible to me. But 
John seems to care as little for rank and power as I do, and I 
have learnt at Longlands that after all a duchess is much as 
Dther women, and, if she pleases, can lead as useful and worthy 
a life as more humble folk. 

‘John and I are agreed that we will not sacrifice ourselves 
to a number of people between whom and ourselves there is 
next to nothing in common, and who do not care a brass 
farthing about us, merely because the world expects of us a cer- 
tain amount of entertainment, hospitality — save the mark ! — 
and show. We will not have about us a tribe of guests. 
What we hope to do is to lead quiet, homely lives together. 
But, more than this, if we find we have made a mistake, there 
are to be no years of unhappiness to follow, for we have agreed 
that we should, in that case, at once separate. ’ ’ ’ 

“ A very accommodating young man,’* said the Independent 
Gentleman. 

“ He must be very much in love,” said Lady Val. 

“ What cynicism 1” 

“ Oh, don’t accuse me of that. There are a few lines 
more 

“ ‘ My only trouble is the dowager. She has old-fashioned 
ideas. In fact, she has yet to be told of our decision, and as 
she regards me simply as a young lady journalist who has 
come to Longlands to write up Co-operative Agriculture — 
well, I don’t quite know what she will say. I suppose a 
mother ought to be consulted in these matters; but it’s very 
awkward. ’ 

“Yes, what will the duchess say?” mused Lady Val. 

“ A more or less considerable storm is certain. After it has 


304 


LADY VADS ELOPEMENT. 


calmed down you must go and see her. How dull for you 
without Grace ! I fear she will not have much time to visit 
you after she has married.” 

The incline had been surmounted some time, but still the 
pony walked onwards. 

“Yes, it will be dull,” said Lady Val. “I shall have my 
little Ina, though. Poor child ! I almost fear she is going 
into a decline.” 

“Fretting over Kingley, I expect? It’s a strange affair. 
They both seemed so devotedly attached to one another. 
Their young love was quite a village idyll.” 

Lady Val sighed. No idyll had ever fallen to her lot. 

“ The place is very different now you have come to live at 
The Weirs,” he said. “ I used hardly ever to see you, except 
when you drove by to the station.” 

“I thought Revelsbury a stupid place in those days, but 
now I am quite beginning to love it,” said Lady Val, earnestly. 

“We have both had our troubles.” 

“Alas ! yes,” and she sighed again. 

“We may have years of happiness in store.” 

There was something in the tone of his voice that caused 
Lady Val to look up ; and then she read something in his face 
which caused her to turn her head away and a warm rosy glow 
to suddenly suffuse her neck and cheeks. 

“ I hope so.” 

She felt it was necessary to say something. 

“I was bitterly deceived in a woman once,” he said, and 
his voice trembled. “ Every body and thing which reminded 
me of her became hateful, and I hid myself in Revelsbury 
away from them all. But wounds must be deep indeed which 
time cannot heal, and lately I have felt that with someone by 
my side I could take my place in the world again.” 

It was her turn to tremble now. 

“ Your friends would be glad to see you back among them j 
but we should miss you.” 

“Surely you understood me?” 


MA Y MEETINGS, 


305 


The pony had stopped, drawn to the side of the road, and 
was grazing on the fringe of grass and wild flowers that lay 
between it and the sprouting corn beyond. Laddie seated 
himself on his haunches in the middle of the road, and regarded 
them benignly. The corners of his mouth slightly upcurving, 
he seemed to smile. 

She did not answer the question. 

Elsie, I believe our chance of happiness lies in our sailing 
in the same ship. Do you love me?’^ 

I do,^’ she said, simply, and placed her hand in his. ^‘1 
never knew it myself until to -day, she added, looking at him 
trustingly out of her large hazel eyes. ‘ ‘ It flashed upon me 
as I saw you playing to those poor men.^’ 

You have made me more than happy, ’ ^ he said, delightedly. 

^^But you won’t go to sea again?” she asked, anxiously. 
No ; I have done with the Navy. I should like to make 
Revelsbury our home always. I am much attached to the 
place.” 

Mr. Kingley couldn’t get on without you. But you spoke 
of our sailing in one ship.” 

‘ ‘ Not a sea ship ; some other ship — courtship, for instance. ’ ’ 
You shall always be my commander,” she said, shyly. 
And you my mate.” 

‘^But not first mate,” she thought to herself, and was mo- 
mentarily jealous of that wretched woman who had blighted 
the best years of his life. 

‘‘Good heavens! The reins are under the pony’s feet. 
What have I been thinking of?” 

To this very unnecessary question Lady Val gave no reply 
beyond a little happy laugh. 

And then they drove off through an enchanted land of 
green cornfields, spreading under enchanted blue skies, com- 
ing presently to an enchanted elm-embowered village, just 
outside which were the new, half-timbered, gabled cottages, 
each garden-surrounded, and the young apple-trees, planted 
in the autumn, bearing bunches of pink-white flowers. 

26* 


u 


3o6 lady vads elopement. 

‘‘I never saw things looking so beautiful/' said the Inde- 
pendent Gentleman ; and yet he had been that road on many 
an equally fine day. 

“Please drop me at the farm, dear," said Lady Val. “I 
want to speak to Ina about some eggs." 

“Won't you come on and see Gwen, and tell her? The 
child thinks there is no one in the world so beautiful as you. 
I'm afraid I taught her that." 

“ Dear little Gwen ! I'll walk round to the Moorings in a 
few minutes. May I tell Ina the news ?' ' 

“ Of course. It need be no secret." 

“ Good-bye for the present, then." 

“ Don’t be long, will you ?" 

Lady Val entered the old farm-house. The rose trees on 
either side of the path leading up from the gate had not been 
pruned. The rooms looked less bright than in former years. 
There were no flowers now in the vases ; the tall, brass-faced 
clock had been allowed to run down. The house seemed empty. 

“ Ina ! Ina !" called Lady Val, and presently the girl came 
slowly down the staircase. Her eyes, which seemed larger 
than of yore, had blue half circles beneath them. The posi- 
tion of her cheek bones was just discernible, for the outline of 
her once fair round cheeks had sadly changed of late. She 
looked delicate, etherealised, and still very beautiful, though 
no longer a robust, bonnie girl. She greeted Lady Val lan- 
guidly. 

“You should be out in the sunshine this lovely afternoon,'® 
said her friend. 

“I know this place so well," she replied, with a sigh. 
“What pleasure is there in going out? And I get so very 
tired." 

“ I have news for you which will brighten you up, I hope, 
for I shall want a bridesmaid." 

Ina clutched the arms of the chair in which she was re- 
clining. 


MA Y MEETINGS, 


307 


You are going to be married ?'* 

It was a woefully white, pained face she turned to her vis- 
itor as she asked the question. 

‘‘Yes, dear, in a few months, I expect — why! the child's 
fainted I Now, where can I get water, I w^onder ? Bridget ! 
Bridget !" 

The old woman came running in. 

“Lawks a mussy, but she won’t eat nothing, and I telled 
her how it ’ud be.” 

Please get some water.” 

After a few minutes Ina came to herself, and Bridget left 
them. 

“That’s the second time I’ve seen you faint. You’ll have 
to be careful, my dear. I wonder if I may leave you. I 
have to go and see my future step-daughter. Doesn’t it 
sound strange?” 

Ina thought it did sound strange — very strange. 

“Step-daughter? I don’t understand,” she said, faintly. 

“Why, when I marry Sir Harald Goodenough,” said Lady 
Val, blushing, “Gwendoline will — Oh, dear! the poor girl’s 
fainted again. I shall have to take her to see a specialist.” 

Bridget was quickly summoned, the ordinary remedies were 
again applied, and presently Ina opened her eyes. 

“ Please leave me,” she said to her visitor. “ I want to be 
quite alone. You don’t mind, do you?” 

“ Of course not. Good-bye, dear. I shall look in again 
on my way back to The Weirs,” and Lady Val passed out 
radiant and beaming to rejoin her lover, little thinking what 
emotions she had stirred up, what hopes she had raised in the 
bosom of our sweet maid of Revelsbury. 

For a few minutes Ina remained in the old panelled parlour, 
Bridget fussing about her. Then, so that she might be free 
from the attentions of the old woman, ascended to her bed- 
room and locked herself in. 

Would he come to her, she wondered, or had one of those 
brilliant ladies in London ensnared him ? How long would 


3o8 


LADY VAVS ELOPEMENT, 


she have to wait until she knew for certain if — Oh ! how 
terrible the uncertainty of it all was. This engagement be- 
tween Lady Val and the Independent Gentleman was strange, 
and Gerald had never been to Revelsbury since his return 
from Norway. Was it possible she had made some mistake ? 
It was she who had dismissed him. But, then, Gerald had 
spoken of his marriage as if it was already arranged. 

She lay down on her bed, and covered her face with her 
hands to shut out the room and work the thing out. But it 
was so perplexing ; life was such a tangled coil. Her head 
seemed almost bursting; she felt she might go mad unless she 
knew the worst soon. The uncertainty was more than she 
could bear. She came to a sudden decision. 

Hodge’s merry whistle could be heard outside. She looked 
out through the latticed window. The sun was setting behind 
the distant Chiltern Hills, and a ruddy sunset was making the 
heavens glorious, and bathing the old, gnarled, blossom laden 
apple trees in warm light. The lad was passing with a sieve 
full of oats for the grey mare. Ina called to him. 

Harness Peggy,” she said. I must go to the station.” 

jfc * * * ^ ^ 

A field night in the House of Commons. The Old Age of 
the People had been debated, discussed, and examined from 
the departmental view, the official view, the statistical view, 
the ratepapers’ view, the guardians’ view, the landowners’ 
view, the farmers’ view, the charity organization view, the 
faddists’ view, the brewers’ view, the teetotallers’ view, and 
these views were all so cogent, important, and powerful, that 
there really seemed little occasion for the views of the poor 
themselves to be taken into consideration. 

^‘The debate makes one thing only clear to me,” said 
Gerald, who, with the Duke of Silchester, was sitting in the 
gallery reserved for distinguished strangers. ‘'Any scheme 
must cost a great deal of money, and each class is anxious to 


MA Y MEETINGS. 


309 

put the payment of it on the shoulders of some other 
class. 

The duke dogmatised : 

‘‘The class which should bear the burden/* he said, “con- 
sists of those who obtain wealth for themselves by paying 
such low wages that the workers earn a bare subsistence, and 
can make no provision for illness and old age.’* 

“A sound principle, but not easy of application, I fear,** 
opined Gerald. “ Let’s go.** 

“The House of Commons always makes me feel hungry,** 
said the duke; “ the debates are so unsatisfying. There’s a 
new dish at the Coliseum, sardines d la — I forget the name. 
Come with me and try it ! No? — Well, we shall meet to- 
morrow. Good-night. ’ * 

Gerald entered his brougham, and was driven rapidly to the 
Albany. It was past midnight, and he let himself in with a 
latch-key. One table near the window was half covered by a 
budget of letters which had come by the evening post. He 
began opening them wearily. 

“If you please, sir* * — the housekeeper had entered noiselessly 
— “ there’s a young per — lady, who called about eight o’clock, 
and wanted to see you particularly. She — er — er ** 

“Well?” 

“ She wouldn’t go away, so I let her wait ; but she seemed 
so faint and exhausted that I got her to lie down on my bed, 
and she’s asleep there this minute.” 

“ But what’s her name?” 

“ She didn’t seem to like to tell me ; but she said you knew 
her quite well.” 

“ Very odd,” said Gerald. 

The housekeeper gave vent to a dry cough, in which his 
words seemed echoed. 

“ What’s she like?” 

“Well, I would hardly say she’s good-looking, sir,” and 


310 


LADY VArS ELOPEMENT, 


the woman smoothed the folds of her black silk dress ; ‘‘but 
she has large violet eyes.’* 

Ah ! Could it be ? Throwing decorum to the winds, he 
strode quickly through a low, curtain-covered doorway into a 
passage, and thence into the housekeeper’s room. It was in 
darkness. A moment later he had turned a knob and flooded 
it with electric light. A young woman lay on the bed, her 
fair face turned towards him. Her eyes were closed, her lips 
slightly parted, and the soft bosom rose and fell with the 
gentle breathings of sleep. 

“My God! it’s Ina,” he murmured, and reverently knelt 
down by the bedside, taking one of the girl’s hands in his. 

She opened her eyes. A moment or two passed before sleep 
relinquished its hold of her understanding ; then she raised 
herself on her elbow and gazed at him. 

“Oh, Gerald!” and then the warm arms were thrown 
round his neck as he knelt there. 

The lady of the black silk dress, who had been standing by 
the doorway, discreetly withdrew to the dining-room. Was 
it some strange presentiment which caused her to take up the 
advertisement half of the Tunes ? 

Shall we not be equally discreet ? It is hardly meet to in- 
trude further on this happy ending to the long series of painful 
misunderstandings. 

A half hour passed. The lady in the silk dress, after nod- 
ding some time over the paper, quietly dropped into the arms 
of kindly Morpheus. 

The silver gong of the clock sounded the first hour of 
morning. 

“Mrs. Langley, Mrs. Langley, wake up !” 

The housekeeper raised her weary eyelids and saw her happy 
master and his fair, radiant visitor standing before her. 

“ I shall leave this young lady in your charge to-night and 
shall go to the club. I can get a bed there. You will take 
my room. I hope it won’t inconvenience you very much.” 


MA Y MEETINGS. 31 1 

Oh, no, sir. Whatever you please.” The words were a 
trifle sourly spoken. 

And the following day there was a cosy breakfast in Gerald’s 
room, and by lunch-time Joseph Springbrook, who had been 
telegraphed for, arrived in town and took off his daughter to 
that very hotel in Jermyn Street at which Lady Val had 
stopped after her return from Norway. 

There was some talk of a doctor for Ina, but Gerald, who, 
as may have been observed, was wise beyond his years, said. 

Wait awhile.” And within six weeks Dr. Cupid’s treatment 
worked such a change in the dear girl’s appearance that no 
need arose for a drug or bolus. 

Here, at perhaps the brightest, happiest period of their life, 
we may leave them. 

I laid down my pen, and was thinking how strangely things 
fall out, when my wife entered the room. 

Great news, John ! They are all going to be married on 
the same day, and at Revelsbury. ’ ’ 

Then the dowager has come round?” 

You see, it was no use her not ‘coming round,’ as you 
call it.” 

“ How many?” I asked, gloomily. 

“ How many what ?” 

“Wedding presents.” 

“ Lady Val, Ina, Grace, and True,” said my wife, checking 
them off on her fingers. “ That’s four.” 

“ It’s a fearful tax.” 

“ Oh, you are mean. It only comes once in a lifetime.” 

“ In their lifetime, and they may marry more than once.” 

“ Don’t be horrid !” 

“We had three last year, ’ ’ I grumbled. “These will absorb 
half the royalties on the book.” 

“The question is,” said my wife, “ what shall I wear?” 


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little short of masterly, and the reflective portions of her stories are marked by fine 
thought and a deep insight into the workings of human nature .** — Boston Gazette, 


J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, PHILADELPHIA 


By John Strange Winter. 

(Mrs. Arthur Stannard.) 


A Magnificent Young Man. 

l2mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.00. 

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until such a time as he shall give permission. The plot is well sustained, the in- 
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Every Inch a Soldier. 

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** Of the incidents of the work before us, the plot is highly entertaining, and 
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Aunt Johnnie. 

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** Mrs. Stannard preserves her freshness and vivacity in a wonderful way. 
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hero and heroine are both charming, and the frisky matron who gives the story its 
name is a capitally managed character. 1 he novel is exactly suited to the season, 
and is sure to be very popular." — Charleston News and Courier. 

The Other Man’s Wife. 

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** The hero and heroine have a charm which is really unusual in these hack- 
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work." — N. Y. Telegram. 

Only Human. 

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"A bright and interesting story. ... Its pathos and humor are of the 
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By “The Duchess.” 


A Point of Conscience. 

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Molly Darling, and other Stories. The Three Graces. 

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Beauty’s Daughters. 

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A Maiden All Forlorn. 

In Durance Vile. 

The Duchess. 

Marvel. 

Jerry, and other Stories. 

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Mrs. Geoffrey. 

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other Stories. 

Rossmoyne. 

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** * The Duchess* has well deserved the title of being one of the most fasci- 
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most exquisite pathos. There is something good in all of them .'* — London 
Academy. 


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Mrs. A. L. Wister’s Translations. 

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Countess Erika’s Apprenticeship By Ossip Schubin. 

“O Thou, My Austria !” By Ossip Schubin. 

Erlach Court By Ossip Schubin. 

The Alpine Fay By E. Werner. 

The Owl’s Nest By E. Marlitt. 

Picked Up in the Streets By H. Schobert. 

Saint Michael By E. Werner. 

Violetta By Ursula Zoge von Manteufel. 

The Uady with the Rubies By E. Marlitt. 

Vain Forebodings By E. Oswald. 

A Penniless Girl By W. Heimburg. 

Quicksands By Adolph Streckfuss. 

Banned and Blessed By E. Werner. 

A Noble Name By Claire von Gliimer. 

From Hand to Hand By Golo Raimund. 

Severa By E. Hartner. 

A New Race By Golo Raimund. 

The Eichhofs By Moritz von Reichenbach. 

Castle Hohenwald •. By Adolph Streckfuss. 

Margarethe By E. Juncker. 

Too Rich By Adolph Streckfuss. 

A Family Feud By Eudwig Harder. 

The Green Gate By Ernst Wichert. 

Only a Girl By Wilhelmine von Hillern. 

Why Did He Not Die ? By Ad. von Volckhauser. 

Hulda By Fanny Eewald. 

The Bailiff’s Maid By E. Marlitt. 

In the Schillingscourt By E. Marlitt. 

Countess Gisela By E. Marlitt. 

At the Councillor’s By E. Marlitt. 

The Second Wife By E. Marlitt. 

The Old Mam’selle’s vSecret By E. Marlitt. 

Gold Elsie By E. Marlitt. 

The Tittle Moorland Princess By E. Marlitt. 


** Mrs. A. L. Wister, through her many translations of novels from the Ger- 
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would be a cherished home favorite. This faith in Mrs. Wister is fully justified by 
the fact that among her more than thirty translations that have been published by 
Lippincott’s there has not been a single disappointment. And to the exquisite 
judgment of selection is to be added the rare excellence of her translations, which 
has commanded the admiration of literary and linguistic scholars .” — Boston Home 
Journal. 


J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, PHILADELPHIA 


By Frances Courtenay Baylor 


On, Both Sides. 

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** A novel, entertaining from beginning to end, with brightness that never falls 
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enjoyed by those of most cultivation, that is clever, keen, and intellectual enough 
to be recognized as genuine wit, and yet good-natured and amiable enough to be 
accepted as the most delightful humor. It is not fun, but intelligent wit : it is not 
mere comicality, but charming humor ; it is not a collection of bright sayings of 
clever people, but a reproduction of ways of thought and types of manner infinitely 
entertaining to the reader, while not in the least funny to the actor, or intended by 
bim to appear funny. It is inimitably good as a rendering of the peculiarities of 
British and American nature and training, while it is so perfectly free from anything 
like ridicule, that the victims would be the first to smile ." — The Critic, 


Behind the Blue Ridge. 

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** It is lighted through and through by humor as subtle and spontaneous as any 
that ever brightened the dark pages of life history, and is warmed by that keen 
sympathy and love for human nature which transfigures and ennobles everything it 
touches." — Chicag^o Tribune. 

" Intensely dramatic in construction, rich in color, picturesque in description, 
and artistic in its setting. No more delightful picture of the every-day life of the 
Virginia mountaineers could well be imagined ." — Philadelphia Record. 


A Shocking Example, and other sketches. 

l2mo. Cloth, ^1.25. 

** Rarely have we enjoyed a more delightful series of literary entertainments 
than have been afforded by the handsome volume containing fourteen stories and 
sketches from the bright pen of Frances Courtenay Baylor, whose ‘ On Both Sides’ 
has won for her so enviable a reputation on both sides of the Atlantic ." — Boston 
Home Journal. 


Miss Baylor’s complete works A Shocking Example,” “ On 
Both Sides,” and “ Behind the Blue Ridge”), three volumes, in 
box, ^3.75. 


J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, PHILADELPHIA 


By Julien Gordon 


** Now and then^ to prove to men— perhaps also to prove to 
themselves — what they can do if they dare and will, one of 
these gifted women detaches herself from her sisters, enters the 
arena with men, to fight for the highest prizes, and as the 
brave Gotz says of Brother Martin, ^shames many a knighV 
To this race of conquerors belongs to-day one of the first living 
writers of novels and romances, Julien Gordon.'^ 

ERIE DERICH SPIELHAGEN. 


A WEDDING, and Other Stories. 
POPP^EA. 

A DIPLOMAT'S DIARY. 

A SUCCESSFUL MAN. 
VAMPIRES, AND MADEMOISELLE RESEDA. 

Two stories in one book. 
i2mo. Cloth, Si.oo per volume. 


** The cleverness and lightness which characterized * A Diplomat's Diary' are 
not wanting in the later work of the American lady who writes under the pseudo- 
nyme of Julien Gordon. In her former story the dialogue is pointed and alert, the 
characters are clear-cut and distinct, and the descriptions picturesque. As for the 
main idea of * A Successful Man,' the intersection of two wholly different strata of 
American life,— one fast and fashionable, the other domestic and decorous, — it is 
worked out with much skill and alertness of treatment to its inevitably tragic 
issue ." — New York World. 


J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, PHILADELPHIA. 


By Mrs. H. Lovett Cameron 


A Tragic Blunder. A Bad Lot. 

A Daughter’s Heart. A Sister’s Sin. 

Jack’s Secret. 

121110. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, ^i.oo. 


“Mrs. Cameron's novels, 'In a Grass Country,' 'A Daughter's Heart,' 
* A Sister's Sin,' ‘ Jack's Secret,' have shown a high skill in inventing interesting 
plots and delineating character. All her stories are vivid in action and pure in 
tone. This one, ‘ A Tragic Blunder,' is equal to her best ." — National Tribune. 


This Wicked World. 

In a Grass Country. A Devout Lover. 

Vera Neville. 

Pure Gold. 

The Cost of a Lie. 

Cloth, $1.00. 


A Life’s Mistake. 
Worth Winning. 
A Lost Wife. 


“ The works of this author are always pure in character, and can be safely put 
into the hands of young as well as old ." — Norristown Herald. 

“ A wide circle of admirers always welcome a new work by this favorite author. 
Her style is pure and interesting, and she depicts marvellously well the daily social 
life of the English people." — St. Louis Republic. 


J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, PHILADELPHIA. 












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